Slaves to the Trade
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master.
1. Prologue

Author's Notes

Yep, another story. They need to know when to leave me alone so that I can finish the ones in progress. But nope. Will not hear of it.

The migraines I mentioned are a result of head trauma from falling down the stairs. They actually become rather important as a…well, you'll have to wait to find out about that one. But they are important. The actual plot however hasn't shown up yet. Still trying to work out how to introduce it.

Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master.

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Prologue<span>

He had a headache. That was, unfortunately, sadly common ever since his spill down the stairs of Shibuya station a year ago. The entire incident had caused quite the stir, namely because of the massive "electrical discharge" that put the lives of more than a hundred people in jeopardy between the power failure at the hospital and the sudden loss of power on the trains en route. Sadly, the precious minutes it had taken for the electricity to redistribute itself, some on life-support had passed away as the machines failed to revitalise them, and a collision between several cars and a train that had been unable to stop had caused more fatalities. He had been extremely close to joining those funeral fires, if it hadn't been for his family, friends and the Digital World. Whenever he thought about that, which was unfortunately quite often as the migraine attacks served as a sharp reminder, he would also remember the heavy heart of guilt while watching the grieving families mourn for their deceased loved ones.

It was a rather painful conflict in thought. On the one hand, the question always arose as to _why_ they hadn't been able to save those people too. They had set out to save both the Digital World and their own, but so many lives had been lost along the way that it quickly dampened the brief euphoria that came with the hard earned victory. Even for him, who hadn't even witnessed the very miracle he had, in essence, brought about by the sacrifice that had, in turn, been reversed as the story came around in a full circle. The digimon, whosoever had given or lost their lives in that cause, effect or simply as innocent bystanders watching their world spiral into destruction had, to their knowledge, been revitalised along with the world, but the ten minute interlude that passed in the real world cemented the failure buried in their success. Of course, the lives of fourteen people was a small price to pay for the salvaging of their world, but the question would always remain as to whether they could have spared that price as well. To all of them it was a burden they could not lightly abandon, but knowledge of what they had achieved at that price somewhat lightened that heavy load, along with the additional knowledge that it was not they, but Lucemon, who had brought that demise. Perhaps they could have stopped it, but then the question arose as to what else it would have cost them. Perhaps it was impossible, and that was where the circle would end. They all knew, in their hearts, that they had done their best. The guilt they carried was simply that of circumstance, not of fault. It wasn't one they could leave, but it was one that eased with the passing of time and the constant reminders of what they had achieved.

Of course, when the headaches reached their threshold, he tended not to think about anything else.

Faintly annoyed, he shoved the pain aside, trying to focus on the text being read. They were studying Ochikubo Monogatari, and while there were a few people, like Kouji and himself, who didn't approve of the stereotypical depiction of the stepmother, and a few others who believed themselves to be a little too old for reincarnated fairy tales, there was still something dancing within the words that made the classes, and the novel itself, interesting.

The problem was, his headache was mounting to the point that he simply could not concentrate.

He stuck his hand up, and it wavered slightly without support till his Sensei called on him.

'May I…be excused?' he asked, haltingly, feeling a sudden nausea rise in his throat.

He saw the brown eyes look at him, but everything else got lost in a haze. He felt a hand grip the upper part of his arm in a vice grip, and he struggled to turn his head, but colours and shapes just flashed and jumbled themselves together into a haze of pain.

He could hear someone calling to him, screaming to him from far away. He had heard the voice before. He was positive, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. He could make no sense of what they were saying though; everything had just merged into sludge.

The next thing he could definitely tell from that sludge was something cool draped across his closed eyelids. He forced them open, rising up almost on reflex before a strong yet gentle grip stopped him.

'Easy Kimura-kun,' the voice of the school nurse told him soothingly, helping him sit up and hunch over the bed, rubbing his back as the disgusting bile rising in his throat threatened to escape again. 'That's it, let it all out.'

He coughed and spluttered, stomach acid and other digestive contents he really didn't want to think about falling into the container the woman held for him, before gasping for air once he was fairly certain the rest of his stomach contents would remain tame.

'Get it all out Kimura-kun?' the nurse asked sweetly.

'I-I think so,' the other gasped, not nodding in case to reintroduce the nausea.

She frowned worriedly at him, handing him a glass of water which he took with shaky hands, almost dropping it.

'Have you seen a doctor yet?' she asked. 'These migraines of yours are getting worse.'

'No,' the other said softly, speech clearer now that pain and discomfort had both settled, though there was still that uncomfortable flush on his cheeks and the sweat, the latter being soothed by the wash cloth still maintaining its position by a single arm.

'Well, I've called your mother, and she's coming to take you home. I'll recommend she take you to a Doctor first.'

Kouichi said nothing to that. Even if he wanted to argue, his body and mind were both exhausted. He didn't understand it any better than anyone else. His head was hurting more and more lately, and while he could feel someone calling him, he could not fathom who or why. Or what it was they were trying to tell him.


	2. Chapter 1

Slaves to the Trade

Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master.

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 1<span>

The most annoying part of going to the Doctor, Kouichi surmised to himself, was the waiting. The pounding in his head had lessoned thanks to the tablet the school nurse had given him after he had proven his ability to keep some water down, which hadn't been on the first attempt. There was no sense in wasting time in being embarrassed over such a situation as the woman had brushed damp bags away from his eyes and half held him straight; after all, no matter how uselessly someone tried to deny it (his brother came to mind there), there was something rather comfortable with having a presence nearby and watching out for you.

Tomoko was at the desk, talking to the receptionist on duty. He was just curled on an empty chair which his mother had helped him too, but between the constantly blaring commercials, his headache still somewhat persisting dully enough to keep him aware (it had passed from the point where it _took_ his awareness at least, and if he ignored it, it left him well enough alone) and the prospect of being interrupted soon kept him from falling asleep right then and there, though it was rather tempting.

He didn't feel like focusing on the commercials. He never did like them, and flashing images weren't very good for nausea. His stomach had seized its sudden war upon its contents, but it was still slightly unsettled, and his throat, despite the water, was still a little raw. He didn't feel like trying to decipher what part of the conversation in Japanese he had managed to decipher, so that left two things. Daydreaming, or trying to figure out that familiar voice. The second option quickly regressed into the first as he found he was sure it was no-one from his class, which left...well, no-one seeing as he had been _in_ class. Unless whoever had taken him to the infirmary had passed someone else on the way. He didn't think so however. It didn't sound like any of the teachers, and was too deep to be a student's.

Maybe, he decided. It'll make more sense when I'm not thinking about it. Let his subconscious mind do the thinking. Dreams worked that way.

Which reminded him of that dream he had had the previous night. The problem was, he couldn't remember those any better than he could place that voice. It suddenly clicked however, accompanied with a sharp shot of pain that seemed to almost be punctuating the point, that the same voice had been in those dreams. He couldn't call them nightmares; they seemed somewhat urgent of late for sure, but he normally woke up with a feeling of peace and completion that he savoured well and grew accustomed to, like the soft smell of lavender that often wafted across their apartment. It almost seemed like someone friendly was trying to warn him of something.

He hissed slightly as a slightly more vicious bolt shot between his eyes, forcing them up blindly till they focused on the overhead television screen. The commercials were over for the time being, and they were depicting a news item.

_'The Handa family today declare the end of the search for their missing daughter Kanami after three-'_

'Kouichi?'

He turned his attention, somewhat gratefully, to his mother, now leaning down to his head height and worriedly brushing away his bangs. 'Susumu-sensei will see you know.'

His mother had practically half carried him when she had come to claim him from school, but now he was feeling well enough to walk on his own, though he didn't think he could manage anything akin to a normal walking place. He trod carefully, and the woman who had born his burden for twelve years hovered worriedly behind, not ready to let her son fall without someone being there to catch. She had after all had to endure a period of ten minutes wherein she thought she had lost him forever (excluding the fact that it took more than that amount of time for her brain to wrap around the notion). It was natural for her to feel a little apprehensive.

The Doctor was a kindly old man who knew pre-teens well enough not to treat them like little children nor like an adult (he had five grandkids the same age after all, so he had plenty of exposure). He did the usual checks, asking often enough what hurt, when and where, and occasionally, propositions as to why, but not often enough to become annoying. He tested several hypotheses, some with instrumental help like his little light torch, his thermometer and his pager (the last being somewhat unintentional).

In the end, he inquired to the other's sleep, finding nothing else that could be impacting.

Tomoko turned to her son, who always shifted uncomfortably when the topic came up. She was well acquainted by his occasional night terrors, but she felt, even if he truthfully claimed he didn't remember anything save an expanse of darkness, there was more he knew about than what he told her.

But she didn't push him. She had kept enough secrets: his brother, her contact with his father (they had reached the mutual agreement, but had refrained from physical contact because of the matter of their young sons growing apart without remembrance) and her own ME to cite a few examples. And her mother's ailing health, until it had been too late. All of those he had found out on his own. And she knew how the knowledge thereof had hurt and shaken him deeply. There were people who clutched tightly to ties of trust. He was one of those. And he was at that age. She couldn't hold him tight forever. Hadn't that shown through so strongly when she had almost lost him on that operating table?

Kouichi, as predicted, shifted a little uncomfortably on the bed. The time that had passed had by then almost quelled the aftershock so only the persisting dull ache remained, shooting signals from time to time as though reminding him of its presence.

'Not so well the past few weeks,' he said quietly, fingering his own brow line as though trying to ward out non-existent creases. 'The night terrors seem more frequent.'

They were. Only, he himself wouldn't exactly call them night terrors. He had woken up under a thin layer of sweat more times than he could count over the past month or so. He couldn't understand why either, couldn't pinpoint an exact trigger of any sort. Lately, those were also accompanied with screaming headaches...like the one in class, though that was the first time he had thrown up because of it. It was almost as though someone was trying to tell him something, and whoever it was, was running out of time.

The Doctor nodded, drawing up a new screen. 'And your migraines have started getting worse since the last week or so.'

'Yes.' He still didn't quite trust his stomach.

'I think it might be the disruption of sleep,' Susumu said after a moment's thought, filling out a prescription. 'It's not uncommon. I'll prescribe sleeping pills, however if the problem persists over a fortnight from now, we'll arrange a CT or MRI.'

They both thanked the Doctor and left. The option of returning to school never came up; the prospect of sleep had returned to him in the backseat of the taxi (his mother didn't want him travelling on public transport; no doubt he'd feel guilty about that when he was more awake) and he had drifted off by the time they arrived at their apartment. He hadn't even noticed the detour.

Tomoko was tempted to let him sleep; their apartment was on the ground floor, and she was feeling well enough herself that day to carry him. Her bouts came on and off; there were times when she could scarcely get out of bed but forced herself anyway, and others, mercifully more frequent now after her entire family had ganged up on her to force her to rest, where she was moving about with enough energy to make it through the day. However, she would rather he took the medication first. Perhaps the effect wouldn't be instantaneous, but she hoped it would, at least, limit her son's pain. He hadn't tried to hide it, like he would have in the past, and she was both grateful and sad at that. Grateful that he was willing to shed any mask, but sad that she had to witness the full suffering. No mother ever wanted to see their child in pain. The worst thing though, she speculated, was having to bury your child by your own hand. That scene always struck her from the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Over the age, many a foreign literature and cinema had been translated into Japanese. Japan itself hadn't spread all to wide, but it was spreading.

Kouichi was still half asleep when his mother shook him awake. Almost on autopilot, he followed her into their small two bedroom apartment, to her bed (they both preferred that when he was sick), and then into it after swallowing the small pill and half glass of water. Tomoko put the rest of the bottle safely into the medicine cabinet. It wouldn't do to leave things like that around by accident.

In minutes, he had drifted off again, her sitting by his side and stroking a hand through his thick and untamed hair. Smiling slightly now, knowing her son was safe, she fingered the uneven strands. Perhaps it was time to cut his hair again; it wouldn't do for him at all to grow it out to his brother's length, even if one would ignore the junior high school dress code which they will have to adhere to in the following years.

Then, seeing the breathing had evened out and the features relaxed into peace, she took her leave. She needed to be leaving for work soon. Regularly, she worked night shift at the hospital, but occasionally she would be additionally called to replace a nurse on leave. That day, she was covering an afternoon shift, and she would have cursed the bad timing if it didn't draw in one of the world's most painful paradoxes. Work provided money which one used to support themselves and their family, but at the same time drew them far away. At least with night shift, she realised, stroking her eldest son's hair one more time, she had the afternoons and weekends with her child, sometimes children when Kouji came to visit. Often, working mothers would barely see their child before someone retired for the night.

The door shut behind her, casting her room into the soft afternoon glow. The curtains were drawn, but the sun still seeped through the gentle sway of fabric and the slit that separated at the halfway, giving the bedroom a washed out appearance, like the image of a watercolour painting done with only black and white on hand. Or perhaps silver imaging, like the old fashioned infrared cameras.

The only person who was present to see it was dead to the world, fast asleep. He, although, wasn't quite sure of that fact. He thought he must have been asleep, but the world seemed suddenly more distinct. As if he had closed his eyes while their sense remained open. Or perhaps his ears may have been a better motif. He could see little save blurred images, but he could hear his name being called. Urgently. His head still felt like it was full of fog though; it always did after migraines and their accompanying medication. Sometimes that was a blessing, but when consciousness returned with the name, finally identified, sitting on his lips, it seemed far more like a curse.

For a moment, he stared blankly up at his mother's bedroom ceiling, part anxious by his voice of his spirit (he had to wonder if he still could call the spirits of darkness _his_; he had, after all, given them to Kouji), part wondering to the legitimacy of his dream and part curious and a tad annoyed at whatever had woken him from his slumber. The last of those was easily sated; the sun was shining on his face from the slit between the two curtain sheets. The other two, not so much.

He found he felt quite refreshed, as if his sleep hadn't been disturbed. He had to wonder however how he had managed to dream, if that had indeed been what he had done. Weren't sleeping pills supposed to nullify that effect as well?

Then again, sleep was sometimes considered a journey phase of the soul. After all, in his twenty minute "sleep" the previous year, he had journeyed across the expanse of the Digital World and then some. But they had been back in the real world for so long…and surely if something was wrong, they'd call directly? He still had his D-scanner after all, and the others had gotten messages on their cell phones from Ophanimon before. The last one had been at the hospital. A simple thank you which was met by relief and sadness…and the hope for tomorrow.

After all, he mused, climbing out of his mother's bed and stumbling his way to the bathroom in the light of the setting sun like any other newly awoken person. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?

Later, he would look upon that and sorely wish he had. Or rather, he had known a way to divert it. A lot of factors had played their part; distance, ability, circumstance, law, power…in the end, it had, perhaps, simply been a cruel twist of fate that their lives had been so badly screwed. Many would carry that blame with them, but who can avoid that mesh so fine, nothing slips through. Ever.


	3. Chapter 2

Author's Notes

I can't seem to write down a plan for this. I mean, I've got a general plan, but not a chapter specific one. Makes it harder when the chapters don't have names. Anyway, we're getting into the main part, so if that took two-three chapters, then hopefully this fic will be under twenty in total. I think. That's the idea anyway.

The day in this chapter is Saturday. That's important because school normally finishes well past three on other days so someone couldn't possibly visit with a full collection of schoolwork for that day before three.

The last paragraph is referring to the incident with Linda Chamberlain and her daughter Azaria.

It'll get more interesting now. Up till now was the boring setup part.

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master.

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 2<span>

He fell asleep again, watching the oddly fuzzy image of his mother's ceiling. By then the medication had taken its full effect, drowning out dreams and nightmares into a soft buzz in a dense fog which light itself failed to penetrate. His feet moved, walking with a purpose, his hands clenching something solidly…but whatever it was slipped into a shadow of dimness and intangibility, so the next second he was holding nothing at all, going nowhere.

He only awoke to his mother shaking him, calling him…

Almost reflectively, he brought a hand to his forehead, feeling the thin sheen of sweat below his fingers…but mercifully no headache.

'Are you feeling okay?' Tomoko asked, hovering worriedly over him.

Blurrily, he looked up at her, blinking away the shadows from his eyes and rubbing them gently when that failed to produce its wanted response.

'I'm fine,' he repeated softly, smothering a yawn as it attempted to escape under his mother's stern eye. 'Still sleepy though.'

Tomoko's gaze softened as she looked down at her son, before taking a seat at the edge of her bed. 'You slept the afternoon and night through.'

Kouichi groaned out loud. That meant it was time for school. But for once he couldn't really muster up the usual enthusiasm for learning.

Tomoko understood that look. 'You're definitely not going to school looking like that,' she decided. 'But you _are_ going to get something into your stomach before falling asleep again. You threw up your lunch and slept through dinner.'

And so Kouichi dragged himself out of his mother's comfortable bed, ate some tasteless ramen from the microwave (it always seemed tasteless when sleep was on the mind) and drank some milk before dragging himself back _into_ bed (he felt like he could have fallen asleep on the table).

And then his mother was shaking him awake again, after what felt like two seconds of breathing in the pillow's soft scent.

'It's tomorrow already?' Kouichi mumbled, rubbing his eyes again and wondering where his mind had drifted off to in its sleep. He certainly felt far better rested; the fog had all but vanished and the buzzing had stopped as well, leaving in its wake a heavy silence…although that was because no-one had thought to open the windows.

He shivered slightly when his mother did just that, but after a hand almost hastily flew to his head, he realised it wasn't all that abnormal. He was in his pyjamas after all, and pyjamas were made to be worn under blankets…the blankets he had collapsed on top of instead.

'No,' Tomoko replied, fixing curtains. 'But you know if you sleep too much at once you'll get a headache. It's three in the afternoon.'

'Oh yeah.' He almost rolled out of bed like he normally did before catching himself and remembering he wasn't on ground level like he normally was. Unfortunately, that was the problem with oversleeping, especially with someone prone to getting headaches.

'You're not getting into bed till after dinner,' his mother said sternly.

'No 'kaa-san,' the other easily agreed, sitting up properly. 'I never did do my homework from yesterday.'

'Oh, that's right,' Tomoko remembered. 'Someone from your class dropped off the work you missed yesterday and today.'

'Great,' he said honestly. Less chances of falling behind that way. 'That was nice of…who was it?'

'You know.' The woman scratched her head. 'I'm afraid I've forgotten his name.' She paused, then added: 'That wasn't sarcasm I heard, was it?'

'No 'kaa-san.'

She ruffled his already messed up hair suddenly.

'Alright, you go clean up, eat some lunch with me and get a start on your schoolwork. I'm heading off to work after lunch.'

And then she made to scoop him up and toss him in the bath, much like she had to with a reluctant toddler.

'I can pick myself up,' Kouichi mumbled into her embrace.

'Well, hurry up then. If you're quick, you can help me with the fish.'

Kouichi went off, and Tomoko returned to the kitchen where she put the finishing touches on the batter and then set the frypan on. Sure, she was running a little behind on things, but lunch at half-past three wasn't that bad, all things considered. Especially seeing as she didn't have breakfast till after eleven.

The fish was sizzling by the time Kouichi re-entered the kitchen, looking better. He had combed his hair as well and changed out of his baby blue pyjamas and into a white shirt and black slacks.

'You can get the dishes honey,' Tomoko said, without turning around.

He did that, along with everything else they needed; there wasn't a need to point out every tiny little thing after all. His mother finished with the fish and the next half an hour passed in silence.

Tomoko eventually put her chopsticks down and looked at her watch, before sighing. 'Time to go.'

'I'll do the dishes,' Kouichi offered, putting down his own.

'Finish your own lunch first.'

The boy grinned sheepishly, before picking his chopsticks up again and putting another clump of fish and rice into his mouth. Tomoko, meanwhile grabbed her jacket, purse and bus-pass, having to rummage a little for the last one. 'Make sure you lock the door,' she lectured. 'I left the things your friend dropped for you on the dining table, and if you get a headache again, take two of the tablets in the green bottle, I put it in the medicine cabinet, with some water, then lie down. If there's an emergency, call me at work and if you can't reach me, call your father. The numbers are by the phone in case you forget them.'

Kouichi smiled softly at her as she paused for breath. ''kaa-san,' he said. 'This isn't the first time I've been home alone.'

'I know.' She suddenly swept down and hugged him again, and the boy hurriedly put his chopsticks down again before he dropped it by accident. 'I still worry about you.'

'I know you do,' Kouichi replied as his mother released her.

'Oh,' she said suddenly as she picked up her keys. 'That reminds me. Kouji rang yesterday. He'll probably be ringing again once his kendo lesson finishes.'

Kouichi just nodded, seeing as he had another bit of food in his mouth.

'Don't talk to him for too long. You still have your homework to do, but don't overdo anything. You start feeling tired and go take a walk for five or ten minutes and come back. If there are any group assignments or you need help with something, put it aside for now.'

Kouichi nodded again.

'And don't sit too long with your lunch,' she finished, seeing as he had a habit of eating rather slowly.

She probably would have received another nod as she slipped her arms into the jacket, but the doorbell interrupted them.

'Not now,' Tomoko muttered under her breath, giving her watch another glance. 'If it's those marketers again…'

Kouichi stifled a laugh at that. They did have a habit of showing up at the wrong time. There had been one that had popped up when Kouji and their father had been just about to leave and had blocked the door, holding them up for a good ten minutes before Tomoko finally got rid of him. Apparently, shutting the door in his face had epically failed when it had to be reopened soon.

From where he was sitting, he couldn't see the door, but he heard it creak open (they hadn't gotten around to fixing that problem yet) and then a crisp unfamiliar voice replying to his familiar mother's.

'Can I help you?' Tomoko's voice sounded like a hybrid between confusion and a coldness that he rarely heard. It was the coldness that prompted him to abandon his unfinished meal and slowly push his chair back…but it was the reply that prompted it to tip and fall with a crash.

'Sasaki Miyuki, and this is Fukuda Takeo. We're from child services.' Unlike Tomoko's, this woman's voice was a crisp sort of cold, almost formally so. 'You have been contacted by our agency before, yes?' The way she said it didn't sound like a question though.

There was a bit of a shocked silence, before Tomoko professionally spluttered her answer. 'Well…yes, but-'

The other woman cut her off, but was then cut off herself by a third voice nodding to the boy peeking around the hallway.

'Ahh…yes.' The woman, who looked as stern and cold as her appearance, with two wrinkles above her cheeks and a jotting chin framing a tight bun of black hair. The thin line that was her mouth frowned further upon seeing him.

'Sick again.' This time, it was definitely not a question.

'I already took him to a Doctor,' Tomoko said before anyone else could say anything, though the colour had somewhat drained from her face. 'So if that's all it is-'

The woman cut her off again. 'We've received complaints about your son, and in particular his…condition.' She paused slightly between "his" and "condition", as though emphasising the fact.

More colour fled. 'Who?' she whispered.

'Confidential,' came the cold reply. 'Here's the paperwork.'

The black haired woman gestured at her partner, who extracted a folder from his briefcase and handed it to the lithe white hand, who in turn handed it to Tomoko. She looked at the pair, then at her son's wide and confused eyes, then finally at the papers. The defensive cold look wavered, then trembled more fiercely. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then said: 'I'll be holding on to this.'

The pair exchanged glances and the man looked worried, but the woman then turned around and shrugged. 'If you wish,' she replied, though there was a sudden edge to her tone. 'However that doesn't change the fact that the department wishes to investigate a matter. Frequenting a hospital and a doctor's surgery is not a place a child should be in.'

'That's hardly a grounds to accuse-' Kouichi began, the pieces together and his body working properly; he had been undeniably shocked. A neighbour had complained once, a few years back, but that had been because of Tomoko's working hours and the child department had been supportive then, offering a babysitter and help to get his mother's work schedule adjusted to a more kid-friendly hour. Yes, they had paperwork and they had frequently visited, but the way they were talking sounded like-

'We've been instructed to temporarily take him,' the woman said over the other's voice, and he fell silent when no-body moved.

'Where?' Tomoko asked finally, and quietly enough that her son failed to hear her through no intention of her own.

'His father,' the woman replied; the male had barely spoken since his arrival. 'We try to keep a child in their family wherever possible, except when the allegations become…disturbing.'

If there was any colour left in the other woman's face, it fled.

'What allegations?' she whispered.

'I'm afraid we're not here to discuss that.' She beckoned at the boy, who did not move. 'Oh, hurry up. We don't have all afternoon.'

Kouichi stared at his mother, wondering why in the world she said or did nothing. True she wasn't the sort to jump the gun, so to speak, but everybody's tolerance had its limits and weaknesses and he was quite sure they had been jumped, although the more reasonable part of his mind was pointing out that anything said or done could work against them.

That was probably what was stopping a repeat of the Cherubimon incident…minus the whole about to be fried before turning into a super-hero part of the situation.

Or maybe it was because he was afraid. Afraid the truth would somehow fall through; they had already bothered them, they shouldn't be again. It's not that he loathed his father's house; the contrary in fact, but it was simply the circumstances…

…and something was nagging, from the corner of his brain that screamed "irrationality".

'Leave your things here,' the male said as the other finally moved. His voice was kinder than the woman's. 'This is only temporary; you might even be able to return tomorrow.'

On the other hand, he might never. Perhaps his grandmother was right in her own bout of anger. Innocent until proven guilty was seriously overrated. So much so that it didn't exist in normal society.

She had told him a story once. One that he decided promptly he never wanted to read or hear again, and it hadn't even been one about the war veterans unjustly kept, nor the crimes labelled essentially as "just following orders". A woman condemned seven long years for the murder of her daughter, only for the truth to eventually come to light that a dingo had been responsible. Of course, the story and consequent rumours had stuck irreversibly, even as new words came over the old.


	4. Chapter 3

Author's Notes

Apparently Japan is a country that doesn't focus as much as it should on child abductions, and it is, unfortunately, a more common occurrence than I'd like to believe, seeing as my own country is much safer. I can't even imagine how parents must feel…

Enjoy, and tell me what you think. Pwetty pwease?

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master.

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 3<span>

The distance between her apartment and the home of her ex-husband took about four hours to cover by public transport, including a long stretch in between on the intercity express train. By car it took around three for drivers who could stomach high speeds and who did so regularly, but it could stretch well past the time required by the public terminal for drivers like her who crawled their way through the road, traffic or no. So she had to force herself to wait patiently for four and a half hours while doing the work allocated to her, by which time she felt that neither could she wait nor should the journey take much longer, and she picked up the phone at reception and dialled her ex-husband's number.

It rang once, twice, thrice and then on the fourth ring, someone picked up.

'Moshi moshi, Minamoto residence.'

'Satomi-san,' Tomoko responded immediately. 'Has Kouichi arrived yet? Is he okay?' Mentally, she cursed herself for sounding so paranoid, but she really couldn't help it. It wasn't like Kousei was an incapable father; he had raised Kouji on his own for years before Satomi had come into his life, and even dealt with the friction between stepmother and stepson…a problem she hadn't yet quite faced, having not found a second chalice of true love.

Satomi's answer didn't quite help matters though. 'No, and we weren't expecting him either. Kouji's over at his friend Kanbara-kun's house, so-hold on.'

There was the sound of a door slamming shut, a sound that uplifted her spirits and sent them plummeting at the same time. At first, the door felt like it meant that Kouichi had arrived, until she remembered in the next split second that _Kouichi_ did not slam doors, no matter what sort of mood he was in. That was more of a Kouji thing. Even when he accidently let go of the door handle, the door would wind up banging into the hand or foot that shot out on reflex…even if that meant he had dropped the clay sculpture he was bringing home from art class.

Her heart felt like those shattered pieces when Satomi's voice returned. 'No. Was there any reason he would be here? Is everything okay?'

No. He wasn't there yet. And it was more than four and a half hours. Unless there had been a detour along the way.

But…she was a mother. _His_ mother. She couldn't help but worry. Especially so suddenly, with barely any explanation.

And she'd spent the last half hour trying to understand exactly what could have prompted such a reaction. And she came up with absolutely nothing. If it was a year ago, there was his fall down the stairs at Shibuya station, but that was it. There was nothing out of the ordinary; his headaches and migraines fell back on the consequences of hitting his head too hard against the cement. And they were lucky, so lucky, that that was all it was, after his heart stopped beating…

'Tomoko-san? Is everything alright?'

It was only after the other woman spoke, soft voice treading concern, that she realised she'd let a muffled sob escape.

'It's-' She paused for a moment, torn between two conflicting answers, then decided to go with the truth. If nothing else, Kouichi would tell Kouji, who would tell his father and perhaps stepmother. And even if he didn't, his father would surely tell his wife…not that there was a reason to feel any threat from her. Satomi was truly one in a million; both Kousei and Kouji were very lucky to find a woman as accepting and patient and good-hearted as her. 'Well, child services dropped by earlier today, and they said they would be taking him to his father's, and-'

'They can't do that,' Satomi's voice interrupted her, sounding both indignant and concerned. 'Regulations state that the person or persons dispatched must first talk to both parent and child, and if there is an immediate threat to the child, then and only then can they remove the child from the parent's custody. And they would have had to Kousei first, which they haven't.'

There was a sudden draw of breath, then silence. Her mind tried to piece that together, but she was so run down from the afternoon's events (and to think, she had been enjoying a perfectly relaxing lunch with her son before it all) that the pieces simply weren't clicking together.

'Maybe…you're mistaken.'

'Tomoko-san, I work closely too often with Child Services. The amount of children in this world who suffer at the hands of the people who should love them most…' Satomi's voice trailed off, before coming back stronger. 'In any case, it seems a simple check with the Doctor, a check-up at the hospital at most of that was distrusted, would have disproved their concerns. You should call them up and launch a complaint.'

Tomoko thought about that. It hadn't occurred to her before, but the slightly younger woman brought up quite a valid point. 'Will you call…when Kouichi get there?'

If Satomi called the hesitation, she said nothing of it.

'Of course,' she said simply, before bidding goodbye.

For a moment, she simply listened to the dial-tone, before hanging up and looking at her watch, then changing her look as if to bore holds into the hands ticking away and willing them to slow down and then reverse so she could afford a little more time off her work so an irate boss wouldn't kick her off the phone. There were times when it was all she could do not to snatch up her bag and stalk out, especially when her son's health was concerned, though he would grudgingly let her go when she had to pick him up from school…mostly. She wasn't quite sure how he would react if she had to tell him of the latest mess. He'd either surprise her, like he had when the representative had appealed about her working well past midnight and leaving a five year old child alone at a darkened apartment (he had quite plainly said she should have mentioned she had a young son and no-one to care for him while she worked) or he'd coldly send her back to her station.

She hadn't even managed to pick up the phone again when he turned up, sipping a coffee.

'Isn't your break over Kimura-san?' he asked in what his workers knew to interpret as expressionless.

'Ah…yes,' she stammered, startled and accidently dropping the phone back into its cradle. 'I just have a bit of a situation at home.'

He looked at her with his grey eyes. 'Surely your son can care for himself, even when he is ill.'

'Not that sort of problem,' she countered. 'Child services.'

That caught his attention, and the stern expression cracked a little. 'What sort of problem with child services?'

She tried to explain as concisely as possible, and remarkably, the other voiced no complaint. Perhaps he had worked with her long enough to know the falsity of such insinuations.

'Take all the time you need,' he said, a little stiffly, before walking off, leaving the coffee on the desk.

Tomoko blinked, then decided that figuring the man out really was hopeless, and picked up the phone again, flicking through the papers she had quickly pulled out; she had reviewed them in every spare minute and could find nothing suspicious.

This time, it was picked up in far less time, and an even younger woman answer answered in a clear, crisp voice.

'Japanese Social Security, Kyoto Branch. Can I help you?'

She took a deep breath, remembering how it had felt when the man and woman had come in and taken her son, and that _look_ on his face…

'My name is Kimura Tomoko, and I would like to lodge a complaint about the procedure of the removal of my child.' She kept her tone perfectly cool; it would not do to lose her head and start screaming that they explain the unfairness and unjustness of their actions, nor for her to fall into the other extreme and burst into inconsolable tears.

'Kimura Tomoko,' the woman repeated along with the sound of computer keys tapping. 'The record shows a representative visited seven years ago but no further matters have been raised.'

That caused her heart to skip a few beats. Had she imagined the entire incident, fallen asleep perhaps over…something and was simply living a realistic nightmare? But the papers in her grip suggested otherwise.

'Perhaps if you told us their names, we can follow up the matter?'

'Sasaki Miyuki and Fukuda Takeo,' Tomoko responded, after a moment's thought.

'Sasaki Miyuki and Fukuda Takeo…' There was more tapping, then a disgruntled noise and more insistent tapping. 'Neither of them have records in our worker's database, but Sasaki-san is a professor of foreign languages at Nagoya Gakuin University, and the only records of a Fukuda Takeo are that of the 42nd Prime Minister of Japan who passed away in 1995.'

It took a few moments for her to process that. 'What?' she asked, a little helplessly. 'But I have the paperwork right here, signed and stamped-'

'Signed by whom?' It was hard to tell whether the woman was sceptical or concerned.

Tomoko struggled to read the signature. 'Kondo Haruto.'

'Please wait a moment.'

There was the sound of a loudspeaker, then a muffled conversation that rose in volume but not in clarity, and then the woman's voice returned.

'He claims not to have signed such a document, however confesses that one went missing a few weeks back, thus making a forgery quite easy.' Now there was a frown in her tone. 'And you have not heard from your son in the past..?'

'A-almost five hours now.' No,_ no_, NO! It just _couldn't_ be…

There was silence for a few minutes. 'I'm afraid there is nothing we can do,' she said finally. 'If the police deem it necessary to investigate further, we will of course be more than willing to assist, but as reports cannot be filed for a missing person until a twenty-four hour cycle has been-'

'He's my _son_!' Tomoko interrupted furiously, slamming the phone into the receiver and receiving an odd look from a visitor passing by. Of course they wouldn't do anything further, and she highly doubted the dedication of the police force, especially when it came to abducted children.

She slumped, breathing deeply, hoping, thinking, pleading with some non-existent deity…

Finally, with trembling hands, she raised the phone one final time, dialling her ex-husband's number. She remembered it well; she had lived five years under it after all, hoping, _hoping_…

This time, Kousei picked up.

'Moshi moshi, Minamoto residence.'

'Kousei-Kouichi…tell me he's there. _Please_.'

Apparently. Satomi had brought her husband up to date. Thankfully, because if she didn't talk to Kouichi soon, she didn't think she'd be able to tell it a third time.

Perhaps he had realised that as well, because all he said was: 'No, we haven't.'

The receiver slipped, banging into the desk before rolling and dangling an inch off the ground, the cord retracting and expanding like a spring. She leaned heavily beside it, the strength all but gone from her knees, as her body finally shook with sobs as what could possibly have been her last hope shattered in her ear.

The receiver was still emitting noises, but no-body was listening.


	5. Chapter 4

Author's Notes

And here's where the first part of the summary starts coming into play. I wasn't originally intending to update this early, but the assumed kidnapping spurred a bit of a reaction and I figured I might as well. Besides, it's not like that chapter for Meian no Tsukene is getting anywhere...

Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master.

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 4<span>

No-one was talking, so the ride was rather uncomfortable. Watching the scenery flash by would be rather relaxing on normal occasions, the current circumstances made it impossible, and he was waiting anxiously for a strip of location that told him he was heading for his father's house. It had been fine till they got out of the heavy metropolitan area, but he was having trouble recognising the rest. Vaguely yes, but it wasn't the road he had been taking for the last year. Of course, he reasoned, it could be because the train had its own route and cars generically didn't run on tracks, and that was what he had gone on thinking, amongst other things, until he finally recognised the road they were taking.

He rarely went out of Kyoto, and when he had it was on a train…usually. However there were a few special cases, like visiting their grandmother out in the country (public transport only stretched so far). But when he caught sight of the tracks they were crossing over but still failed to recognise their surroundings, he was fairly sure they were going in the wrong direction. And that didn't help anything he was feeling either, a mix between angry, confused and suddenly dislocated. Not to mention his head was starting to ache a little again.

'Are we going the right way?' he spoke up quietly.

'Shut up kid,' the man replied. The woman ignored her, both hands on the steering wheel.

Because he didn't know them, it didn't hurt, but he vaguely remembered the other social worker, from when he was young enough to barely remember most things clearer than crayoned mush, courtesy of some kindergarden scribbles. And he was sure she had been much nicer. She had helped teach him how to read, and had taught him some board games. They were still in his room; he had taken one out a few weeks ago to play with the new six year old in the apartment above them.

These two on the other hand didn't seem to be too bothered with being nice. But maybe because he was older. But it felt far from comfortable. If he didn't think he was being a little paranoid, he would say it felt completely _wrong_.

The car eventually pulled over…well, eventually for the two at the front. Kouichi was expecting the trip to last a lot longer, so he was surprised as the vehicle came to a stop beside an abandoned construction site.

The man practically threw open his door and got out, but the woman simply scowled after him. 'Coward,' she snarled at his retreating back, before making a shrugging sort of motion and leaning onto the steering wheel. 'Hmmph, whatever.'

The window was tinted, but from the inside gave a clear view of the surrounding landscape. As clear as they could with the wood and steel in the way; the man disappeared around a corner.

The woman was tapping on the steering wheel by the time the man came back, with another two in tow.

'This the kid?' one asked. Both were wearing stockings over their face, with holes cut for their eyes. Both were brown. Piercing. Cold.

He drew a small breath at them.

'Yeah, that's the kid.' On the other hand, the man sounded…guilty?

They were on the other side of the car…

'Don't bother running,' the woman snapped, turning to scowl more deeply at her partner but otherwise not acknowledging his weakness. 'Backseat's on child-lock.'

If he wasn't suspicious before, he definitely was then. Of course, the masks had kind of ruined the show. It was an act both careful and careless.

'Can we hurry up?' the woman snapped again. Plainly, she was either uncomfortable or in a hurry.

'Patience woman,' the other man drawled, the one who hadn't spoken yet. 'Any problems?'

'Not at all. Until that woman calls up anyway. We've got a good three hours before that happens though.' Her gaze sharpened. 'It better not get traced back to us.'

The first of the two masked men shrugged in an uncaring way. 'I doubt it,' he scoffed. 'But once the money exchanges hands, we've got no finger in the matter.'

The two men laughed as if he had said something extremely funny, and the boy, the main subject of their discussion, was trying to refrain from either curling up in fright or attempting the back door. Seeing as it was locked, child-locked at that so he couldn't open it from the inside, the only thing he would achieve was alerting the others. It was quite obvious anyway; he had attempted the door he was against first.

'Well,' the woman snapped. 'Hurry up then.'

One of the masked men handed something over to the other, who quickly riffled through the contents, then nodded.

'It's fine,' he said aloud, seeing as he wasn't looking at his partner, handing the paper-bag through the window. The woman took it and repeated the same actions before slipping it into the dash-board.

'Go ahead. Door's open from the outside.' One hand tightened on the steering wheel. 'And you, get in.' The other arm jerked at her partner, gesturing to the empty seat in a forceful manner, an order which the other quickly obeyed.

The two masked men exchanged glances, before one yanked open the door, grabbing the boy by the arm and bodily dragging him from the car.

But it was the other man, reading a needle probably full of a sedative or relaxant, that made him act and elbow the one holding him in the gut. The glint catching the rays of the afternoon sun shot into his eyes a moment as he ran; somehow it seemed far more threatening than anything else so far…though the masks came in a close second. The worst of it (he ducked into the construction, threading through half-made foundations to find a place to hide) was that scenarios were popping into his head; the radio news, that girl they had never found not too far from where he lived, people getting kidnapped all the time, in fact or fiction-

He half-wondered whether his brother's paranoia was seriously rubbing off on him. Sneaking into the lower structure of the floorboards and worming his way back along, the idea was soon squashed.

'That damned brat.' Probably the guy he had elbowed, because he sounded a little out of breath. 'I thought his brother was supposed to be the martial artist.'

'Hmm, at least we know this one's got some spunk.' At "spunk", there was the sound of splintering wood. 'Where'd he go?'

'You're asking me?'

There was silence and the sound of more splintering wood.

'Be reasonable. We don't need him running away.'

Kouichi held his breath, eyes peeking rather uselessly through the tiny gaps between floorboards and heart thumping rapidly in his chest…before skipping a few beats in fright as something loud banged. Louder than the splintered woods…or maybe it just sounded that way because of the silence that otherwise stretched.

'We've been through this before you dolt.' There was the sound of clothing rustling then something shaking…like the bug-spray Junpei sometimes obsessed over when shooing annoying flies away.

'Where would he run anyway?' the voice continued. 'There's nothing but empty land for miles.'

'Hmmph.' The other sounded rather insulted. 'Don't leave any marks.'

'Well, I suppose we should thank Mother Nature for her divine wind then.'

There was the sound of something being sprayed after that, and immediately the air grew heavy. The thumping below his ribcage grew louder, banging like a drum and echoing loudly in his ears, and if he had been safely in bed at home or even sitting through a boring history lecture, he'd have well abandoned it for some aspirin and a nice cool glass of water. As it was, it only worsened the headache, but something held the nausea in check and stifled any whimpers from escaping his lips. Adrenaline he supposed; he wasn't fool enough to believe he wasn't scared. He was.

It was like facing down (or perhaps facing up was the correct term) a massive and corrupt Celestial Digimon all over again, except with a few major changes. Sure, first he had cowered on the ground with Patamon in his arms, useless with neither spirit nor steel, but Cherubimon's words had touched a few raw nerves. Even then though it was a battle that would inevitably come to him, from the moment he had chosen to throw away his heart and take up the spirits of darkness and become its warrior. His heart had been hammering in his chest even then, but he had been facing something that he should have faced what felt like an age ago. This time, he didn't know _what_ he was facing. Nothing his mother, or the teachers at his school, or the police during that incursion, could prepare him for this situation. What was the point in yelling "fire" when there was no-one around who could possibly hear him and help? What was the point of following the river when there was no river to follow? What was the point of running when there was no-where to run to? If anything, going through all those options in his head just made it worse. It also made the likely possibility he had forgotten the one thing that _could_ help even more probable.

It didn't take long before the vicious pounding in his chest was slowing. The black, with tiny pinpoints of yellow light finally registered in his dull brain…or rather, the tiny pinpoints of yellow light that penetrated what he had previously assumed to be shadow-cast black; he was crumpled under a work in progress that blocked out the weak rays of the afternoon sun. It wasn't like floors had windows, nor did the structures which were undoubtedly meant to be walls. The builders had never gotten around to it. Not that he was thinking about any of that at the time; breathing was a chore that was becoming more difficult by the second.

He dropped the hand stifling any noise and gulped desperately for air, unable to hear himself but still trying to make as little noise as possible. But the yellow pricks stubbornly remained, swimming about his eyes, muddling his brain further; he thought wryly he'd normally he throwing up by now…but it was kind of difficult to do when there was an apparent lack of air.

Even those yellow lights (if there were _any_ colour other than yellow, it would make him feel just a tad less nauseous on normal occasions) were starting to blink and fade…

Something broke near his head, falling over his arm and onto his back.

..then those lights, reminding him oddly of the candles drifting in boats during the end of summer when they said farewell to the dead, blinked out, leaving him in utter blankness.


	6. Chapter 5

Author's Notes

The Digimon pop up in this chapter…well, some of them do. My Shakespearian accent's not too good, but I did what I could manage. Sometimes it seems like another language…

As for Kouichi's memory, you only realise you can't remember something when you try to remember.

Apparently the twins' birthdate is on June 29 1993. Only the rest of the site is in, I think, Spanish, and I can't find a validation anywhere. Takuya's we know is in August from Canon, and it is, I guess, theoretically possible. Mostly I still like to play with the twins' birthdates and make them more versatile, but the "real" one suits in this fic. So it's already passed and Takuya's is coming up. The Digital World also took place between the two birthdays on the previous year, so Takuya is still eleven.

Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master?

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 5<span>

'Lowemon! Hey, Lowemon! This ain't no time to take a breather!'

Agunimon's voice registered in his brain, even though the entire organ felt like it was filled with fog. But he was rather confused. Why did it seem like Agunimon's voice had darkened and become more mature since the last time he had heard. It hadn't been all that long ago; Agunimon had been shouting orders all day, and the two days before that since they had started chasing after the elusive Arachne.

'Silence ye fool,' another voice scolded, but without malice. Before Mercurimon could continue, a third voice, this time female, cut in.

'If ya'll spent less time yakkin' and more time kickin' we'd be done an over with by now.'

Over with what exactly?

'Yoo hoo, Lowemon. Up and at 'em sugah.'

He realised he was hunched over, and quickly straightened up, fighting the dizziness that plagued him before ducking as spider webs flew at his face. The staff appeared in his hand and he swung it at the next stream, spinning and striking through the white silk before ducking under a shot of rancid green acid as Agunimon beat it back with his fire.

The Archnemonclicked her fangs before scurrying up on one of the webs that hadn't been torn or burnt before being knocked down by a stream of water…into a net Mercurimon had constructed from reflected webs.

Archnemon opened her jaws wide, ready to blast the webbing with another burst of acid, but Ranamon sent another burst of water which, while reducing the effective stickiness of the netting but getting the spider in the eyes, causing her to spit and snarl until the knight of mirrors succeeding in tying her mouth shut.

Agunimon and Lowemon had both been standing idly, the latter a little heavily too on his staff while the former alternating between eyeing the other in concern and keeping a lookout for more reinforcements. The last time they had almost succeeded in capturing the elusive Arachne, a horde of Dokugumon had jumped on them. By the time they'd managed to reduce the number to eggs (it was impossible to drive them off), their prey had almost escaped. It was only due to the fact that Mercurimon could teleport that she hadn't.

Luckily, this time they both caught the movement, so the result was a clear path, a terrific burst of fire and darkness and a vexed Ranamon with burnt hair.

'Watch yah aim or ah'll squash you like tunafish!'

Agunimon just scratched his head as the water sprite doused her hair with a gust of water. Mercurimon shook his own metallic head.

'Art thou's numerous failed attempts sufficient to aid thy precision?'

'Leave it guys,' Lowemon interjected as Agunimon opened his mouth again, looking like he would soon become ready to spit fire.

'Speaking of…' The warrior of fire changed direction so fast it would have made the head of anyone unused to him spin. 'What was that? You feeling alright?'

'Fine,' the warrior of darkness sighed, flexing his grip as the staff vanished whence it came. At the two sceptical and one confused glance, he added: 'Just a dizzy spell, but it long since passed.'

'Oh, did one of the stingers get you?' He didn't look quite so worried anymore, now that the said worry had been largely placated. At a nod, he added: 'It's not like you to be distracted by such an attack.'

'Says the guy who'll keep fighting with a horde of Bullmon on yah tail,' Ranamon laughed, having gotten her hair back to normal. As used to as she was to Agunimon's antics, she'd long since forgiven him…till she got an opportunity to soak him as revenge.

'So'll that guy, buddy,' the fire warrior replied, jerking a gloved thumb towards Lowemon. 'And Wolfmon. And Chakkmon. And that's when we have good reason.'

Archnemon squirmed in her bindings, before finally giving up.

Lowemon shrugged again. 'For a moment, it felt like I was trying to escape from someone instead of catching someone else.'

'Ah, conflict of will.' Whatever

Mercurimon said after that made no sense to his three companions.

'Err…what?'

Agunimon though was the only one brave (or perhaps stupid) enough to allude the other to that fact.

* * *

><p>Kouichi came to rather slowly, and it took a great deal more time to realise he was not walking between beside Ranamon, laughing at Agunimon's misfortune and Mercurimon's scolding, but rather sitting and tied rather uncomfortably to something hard. Judging from the position, he assumed it was a chair, but once he finally managed to get his eyes to open, he realised he couldn't validate that assumption by sight. Either there was no source of light at all, he had somehow lost the ability to see, or something, like a blindfold, was obscuring his vision.<p>

He didn't even need to squirm to feel the rough ropes biting his wrists and ankles, but he did so anyway, partly to see if he could wriggle out of them and partly for the fear that suddenly clutched at him. When nothing gave except bolts of pain running down both his head and arms, along with yellow spots flaring to life in his peripheral vision before vanishing and leaving behind a feeling of inherent nausea, he squirmed more…before freezing as something viscous collated around his wrists along with the feeling of skin tearing, a cry escaping in consequence, and laughter responding to it.

If anything, being in such a vulnerable state, alone, in the dark and utterly powerless…he couldn't imagine anything more terrifying.

Especially when a sudden blow to his ear reinforced that with another cry of pain.

'Look,' a male voice snapped, completely unfamiliar. 'The less trouble you cause us, the more pieces you'll be in and the longer you're likely to live.'

The blow brought back the pain in his head and the prickling lights and he clamped his mouth shut, to stop both future sounds and the contents of his stomach from escaping. His heart hammered painfully in his chest, reminding him of his brief interlude in the Dark Area of the Digital World. There were a few notable changes though; he was quite sure he was alive, and unfortunately, not in the Digital World (he must have been dreaming) or wandering along the corridors of death. He certainly wasn't falling through empty space, chasing shadows and pinpoints of light, and crying tears of bitterness amongst pain while a large corrupted bunny hovered over him.

That last part was rather amusing; blindfolded but not gagged (if he was indeed blindfolded which seemed the most likely scenario as he thought he could feel cloth wrapped around his neck), he couldn't really tell whether there was a bunny hovering behind him, reading to corrupt him with "evil" or not.

And he had marvelled at how he had given in so easily the last time.

Ok, forget about that. Think about something else.

Like how they had played pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey at Tomoki's birthday party. Takuya had accidently managed to pin it to his brother's hair, and it had taken fifteen minutes before Yutaka, acting as chaperone, had managed to detangle it. As revenge following that incident, Shinya had-

What had he done? Why couldn't he remember?

Let's see. He definitely remembered Tomoki's older brother frowning over the mess that had become Shinya's hair, trying to get the make-shaft donkey tail out without pulling out too much hair. Now that he thought about it, had Takuya tried at all? Shinya was Takuya's brother after all. And _what_ had Shinya done as revenge? He knew Takuya was mad enough to steal his brother's memory card, and that had escalated until…

Why couldn't he remember that either?

There had to be something else. Trying not to move, he stared into the blackness; he had found a few years ago that it was easier to focus when staring at something, and staring at black was better than staring at nothing at all.

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure how long he'd sat there, digging up memories and things. It passed the time certainly, and helped ignoring other parts. He'd almost fallen asleep again, the headache and nausea fading slowly as time passed…or perhaps he had fallen asleep; black when awake and black when asleep made it very difficult to distinguish one from another, especially when pain existed in both realms, when something, or rather someone he supposed as he could feel the warmth through a thin layer of clothing he presumed was the set he had been wearing before-<p>

His breath hitched slightly. Dammit. He had been trying so hard not to think about that. What would his mother be thinking; they'd lied to her, and they'd hurt her. Once she found out the truth, that would probably be rather insulting, and then…God, everybody must be so worried. Unless they'd lied and said he ran away or something like that-

No, his family and friends would never believe that. There was a small comfort in that.

The hand that shook him suddenly removed itself, before relocating to his throat.

'Open your mouth.'

He automatically clamped his jaw shut, a reflexive action which was immediately overridden as the hand tightened and he gagged. Something was forced between his teeth before a second hand, probably a part of a pair, covered his mouth and nose.

Every other thought flew out of his head except for the need for air, and he desperately tried to cling to them, body unconsciously thrashing as best as he could in his binds as a useless bid for oxygen. The natural instinct, to struggle for life. He remembered Kouji had an odd habit of counting when he was trying to control his emotion or calming down, and when normal numbers failed, sequences: Fibonacci, primes…he didn't know the Fibonacci sequence though.

Simple numbers would do. One, two three, four, five, six…

He forced himself to swallow, and the hand released him, letting him gasp desperately for air while his body still trembled involuntarily. The migraine was worse, rather uncontrollable; being deprived of oxygen was not a good way to fight headaches. The blood needed to be circulated, and red blood particles carried oxygen. They _needed_ oxygen to be carried. The brain needed that oxygen for the cells to react to the pain.

He gagged again, reflexively, before tasting bile in his mouth. His throat burned. Painful tears pricked his ears and he coughed and spluttered, trying to both empty the contents of his stomach and stop himself from doing it again. He felt himself fall, and it didn't occur to him to think about how he had managed to do that (actually, the guy who had been holding had shoved him to his side, chair included). There was muttering over him, shouting for a moment, then something was tugging near his eyes and the blindfold came off.

The lights burned. He closed his eyes on instinct and threw up again, trying to turn his head away from the smell while he tried to spit the taste out of his mouth. He didn't care who was watching. Let them watch; he was tired, spent, otherwise an angry flare would have shot up. He never could stand it; he thought maybe after a year he would have been used to it.

There was some more muttering as he gasped like a half-dry fish and blinked desperately. Fuzzy people came into view. One was a woman, holding one eyelid back and peering into his eyes.

'I doubt it was the tablet,' she said quietly, straightening up. 'Too quick a reaction. Probably the migraine from that head injury.'

She made to replace the blindfold, but the only other in the captive's peripheral vision shook his head.

'Leave it off,' he said, before frowning. 'Did he throw it up?'

The woman shrugged. 'Maybe a bit, but certainly not all of it. Vomiting was an old-fashioned way of getting rid of ingested poisons, but it never was 100%, hence the failure.'

'Should I give him another one or not?' He sounded rather annoyed.

'You can when vomited within the hour, but let him recover first. Otherwise chances are he'll just throw it up again.'

There was a pause, then: 'Get the rag in here.'

Then echoing footsteps, then silence.

Eyelids dropped over the blue eyes again, once, twice, trying to get the room into focus. All he could get however were blurred colours. Mostly yellow. Either they had left the lights on or the sun was shining and reflecting of something. He couldn't tell which.

He closed his eyes again. That wasn't the best time to make something of his surroundings. Better to think about something else.

Like what he was going to get Takuya for his birthday in a couple of weeks.


	7. Chapter 6

Author's Notes

I apologize to anyone who had this fic on alert since I had to keep re-uploading the last chapter. For some reason, it was only working with some people. Some of my chapters have been doing that lately.

As for the connection with Lowemon…he'll explain it at some point or other. I won't spoil it before then.

And as for what they want with Kouichi…that'll be explained in the next chapter (well, mostly), but I'm surprised no-one's put it together yet. Or are you all just sitting on the idea? I want to know what you all think though. Kouji still doesn't know what's going on.

Enjoy, and tell me what you think. And thank you to everybody who reviewed so far.

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master?

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 6<span>

When no-one had picked up the phone the previous night, he'd figured his mother had take his brother to the Doctor, or something similar, or they'd just gone out for some fresh air. Heck, Kouichi may have himself defied orders and gone out on his own while his mother was at work; if he had, it wouldn't be the first time. He didn't particularly like being confined to bed…even when he was sick. There were plenty of reasons he wasn't picking up.

That didn't help the odd feeling sitting in his chest however.

'You look worried,' Takuya commented, helping himself to a cookie from the tray he had brought from the kitchen. 'Is my cooking really that bad?'

Kouji choked on the one in his mouth. '_You_ cooked them?' Then, a little sarcastically, he added: 'you didn't put stones instead of chocolate chips, did you?'

'No,' the other huffed, scowling a little. 'Legitimate chocolate chips.' He swallowed. 'Hmm, doesn't taste nearly as bad as last time.'

'You killed my goldfish,' Shinya yelled from the other room.

'I did not,' Takuya yelled back.

Kouji looked a little thoughtfully at the cookie in his hand. Their failed attempts in the Digital World had prompted both of them to swallow their pride and ask their mothers (and stepmother in his case) to teach them how to make something edible. If the brunet's comment was any indication, both techniques still needed quite a bit of work, and anyone who was condemned to tasting normally got a sinking feeling in their stomach the second the suspicion arouse.

That was probably it. Nothing to worry about. Especially after it vanished soonafter he admitted, albeit grudgingly, that the cookies were edible. They were a tad more than that, but it took the third cookie for the cook to pinpoint he had added a pinch too much salt in the dough.

At least he didn't dump in half the bottle like the last time.

* * *

><p>The feeling came back once he returned home after an early movie. He and Takuya had stayed up quite late talking and trying to beat each other at some fighting game, and then Izumi had rung about eight, waking them up and practically demanding the pair join her and Tomoki in watching the latest action release. Junpei had been busy with something or other and no-one had bothered to ring Kouichi again. Not only did he sleep in on Sundays (like Takuya would if someone didn't ring and wake him) but it was unreasonable expecting him to travel so far only to return the very same day. And seeing as they knew he was either still sick or recovering, they decided it wouldn't be a good idea to wake him prematurely.<p>

So the four…actually, seven as Izumi had also invited Chiaki and both brunettes brought their brothers and neither exactly by choice, spread themselves out on an otherwise empty row and enjoyed the film…sort of. It seemed the better alternative, as Takuya had been dead set on roping him into a round match of soccer instead, but that didn't stop him from falling asleep before the end. Then was lunch back at Takuya's place, who's mother had insisted, then back home where his father was standing on the front step, arms folded.

For a moment he wondered if he had forgotten to tell his father he'd be staying for lunch, or worse, he was sleeping over. But Takuya's place would have been the second house he would have rung if that was the case, after his birth-mother's apartment. And he would have relentlessly rung the house of every person he trusted enough to visit, then moving on to every library and dojo he ever visited, and if that didn't yield any results, he'd comb the entire district to the ground before standing at the door like that. He should know, after that time he had threatened to run away and stalked off to the park in a huff.

But Kousei had the same expression on his face. Which was what made him hurry a little uncharacteristically the rest of the way.

Kousei started to say something upon seeing him, before looking…a tad disappointed. 'Oh…Kouji. How was your sleepover?' He sounded a little distracted though. 'Did you get through to your brother?'

'Fine and no,' Kouji replied, looking at the dark circles under his father's eyes. 'Should I have?'

The elder man didn't answer.

'Kousei, is that-' Satomi stopped short in the hallway, one hand clutching the apron and the other a spoon. 'Oh, Kouji.' She sounded half relieved, half disappointed.

Kouji was rather bewildered at that point. 'Were you expecting someone else?' he asked. 'Or am I in trouble?'

His parents exchanged glances, before Satomi stuck the spoon in a pocket, wiped both hands on her apron and then put her right on her husband's shoulder.

'Let's go inside,' she said quietly. 'Nothing's going to change if you stand watching an empty road.'

* * *

><p>'What do you mean he's missing?' Kouji yelled, standing up.<p>

'Don't yell at your father,' Satomi scolded, which was a rare occasion in itself. But the scolding wasn't in the manner of that which his father used, but rather she looked at her husband's hunched form.

Kousei was talking to his knees by that point.

'I mean he's gone,' he repeated. 'No-one seems to know where he is.'

'But-But-?'

Satomi removed her arms from her husband's shoulders, instead coming over to her stepson and gently coaxing him back into his chair.

'The documents were legit,' he continued. 'Child services claims the signature was forged, but there's no proof of that.' He remained silent for a moment. 'Don't blame your mother for this.'

Truth be told, that was the last thing on his mind, and he made to say as much before checking himself. The clearest thing in that tone was regret; no doubt the thought had already crossed both their minds and had been confronted.

'The police-?' The younger twin asked, mind reeling. They sounded so helpless; he'll be damned if they didn't try harder.

'-are a bunch of incompetent fools when it comes to child abductions.' Kousei laughed hollowly. 'They had the audacity to believe and sit on the presumption that _I_ had kidnapped him, without even checking or investigating the matter.'

'Of course,' Satomi continued in a quieter and more controlled tone. 'Your father and mother did manage to convince them otherwise, and they're working on inquiring with the Child Services along with Traffic Control to see if they can trace the car of roll-back. But if they come up empty, they flat out refuse to go any further.'

'And that's…it?' It just didn't sound like enough. It _couldn't_ be. Why were they just sitting there? Why weren't they _doing_ something? 'That's just…' His voice choked, before snapping as he stood up, shaking off his stepmother's embrace with more force than was necessary. 'That's not good enough! He's my brother!'

'He's my son,' Kousei replied, rubbing his brow in part to hide the tremors in his voice. He needn't have bothered however; the other was beyond seeing that. 'Just like you.'

'You ignored his existence for ten whole years! And even now, you don't care…when he could be-he could be-'

He broke off and stormed upstairs, knowing he had gone too far but being unable to make himself care.

* * *

><p>He ignored the knocking on the door and the rattling of his knob. He'd had the foresight to bolt it shut, so even if his father dug up the key and unlocked it, the door still would not open and admit them.<p>

'That was uncalled for Kouji.' It was Satomi, and her voice held no trace of anger and reproach. 'You know your father loves you both very much and the fact that the two of your were raised separately more a fault of the law then on either of your parents.'

She paused, but upon receiving no reply or even an acknowledgement, she continued.

'If the police don't come up with anything, we'll hire a private detective. And we'll keep working on ideas. No-one is giving up on Kouichi, Kouji. Being upset is okay, but your father has enough a load to carry right now without you adding to it. Rest, calm down, and then call your friends and keep faith…okay?'

Kouji still didn't answer. Satomi didn't understand; she couldn't. It was times like these that re-erected the old barrier that had stopped him from accepting her as a part of the family.

The rest of him rejected that, but his heart was too busy being stubborn and his eyes were too busy leaking to see clearly.

In the end, tired out, he hoped he'd wake up soon to Takuya yelling in his ear of Izumi tugging on his hair or Tomoki giggling at his expression. Maybe he'd just fallen asleep over the boring movie and dreamt the whole thing up.

But then he remembered the odd feeling he had felt the previous afternoon. And he finally managed to place it.

It was the same sensation he had felt in the elevator. According to Takuya and the police officer, it was the exact moment the other had fallen down the stairs and hit his head.

When he managed to fall asleep, it was to Kouichi's tear-stained face. He imagined it was just how he had been in the darkness after the fall. Alone and terrified.

_Ni-san…_


	8. Chapter 7

Author's Notes

Well, I certainly managed to get a decent sized wrench into this fic before school opened up again. I guess I'm kinda on a roll here. Which is good; one less fic to work on once it's finished and since it's all going along with the flow…I think I've watched too much Fullmetal Alchemist lately.

This chapter's a tad longer for the simple reason that it took three or so pages for Kouichi to stand up. You'll see what I mean when you read it.

Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master?

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 7<span>

He was talking to Agunimon…or rather, he was listening to the chatterbox and barely managing to get his two bytes in on occasion. The fire digimon might appear to get a little self-absorbed at times, especially in the midst of some magnificent anecdote, but he _did_ manage to notice as the other suddenly choked a little.

'Lowemon?' For a moment, he blinked stupidly, before looking at the sky. 'No rain.'

He was proven wrong when a torrent of water cascaded down on him…narrowly missing the other warrior.

'_Ranamon!_'

The girly laughed taunted him as the water sprite jumped clearly over them both. 'Payback sugar,' she called, wriggling her finger, before blinking as they _both_ coughed and spluttered.

'Have ye no control?' Mercurimon asked with a sign.

'Hey,' the other shrilled, before staring at the warrior of darkness. 'I'm better than that.' It came out a little like a question though.

Lowemon simply waved a gauntleted hand, before ducking as Agunimon shook himself like a dog. 'Just had something in my throat.'

It almost felt like he was coming down with the Digital World equivalent of the flu. He certainly hoped not.

Turned out he wasn't, or if he was, it passed in the early stages. Luckily too, otherwise Wolfmon would have locked him in his quarters in the Venus Rose for weeks until he was "better"…in other words, in enough condition to be chased around by Dogmon all day.

He wondered thereafter if he had imagined the trickle of fluid that had gotten stuck in his throat: that bitter tasting mucous like substance…

* * *

><p>The next time he woke up, he was feeling rather groggy. Because of that, it took a moment for his mind to process the pain that engulfed his body. When he did, an involuntary moan escaped his throat, echoing rather loudly into the darkness and mocking his powerlessness.<p>

His entire body trembled, and that kept jarring whatever wounds he couldn't see…in fact, he could barely see at all through the gap which his slightly parted eyelids left. But it all happened without his jurisdiction, his conscious effort…and when he tried to move of his own violation, his limbs felt like they had noodles in them instead of nerves and muscles and veins pounding oxygen through his body.

Actually, he wished those veins would do their job trafficking little erythrocytes to and from their destination a little more quietly. He could still feel the thumping behind his temples which indicated a new headache…or the fact that the old one hadn't gone away. It wasn't nearly as painful enough for him to blame it for the rest of his pain…actually, he realised slowly as whatever cold surface he was lying on continued to heat up with his body warmth and ease the pain as it transferred the steely chill to his flesh, it was more sore than a sharp pain.

Okay, he sighed mentally, suddenly sick of the whole situation. He'd been helpless enough times, and it wasn't a pretty scenario to keep rolling in to. And seeing as everything was nice and quiet for the time being except for the sound of his own breathing (unless something was wrong with his ears, however he doubted that; his hearing was quite sharp even if his eyesight wasn't always up to scratch), now seemed a good time to try and figure a few things out.

Baby steps first. A baby had to learn how to crawl before he could walk. Four legs, then three, then two. And when they succumbed to old age, they were forced to take up a support again: a walking stick…or eventually, like his grandmother, they would be unable to walk or even sit and be forced to lie on a bed as their life ebbed away.

A bed with four legs. Seeing as he was lying flat on something, and as far as he could tell, there was no added pressure on his legs or his seat, so he wasn't standing or sitting…or restrained in such a manner that he was forced to stand or sit rather. And flesh didn't seem to be touching flesh…unless he was really that cold…

Even more important for the baby steps then. He already knew he couldn't get his eyes to open fully. Maybe move his hand. Nope. A finger? He thought it might be moving, but because it wasn't against anything, it was extremely hard to tell. He strained a little…there! It touched another finger, living behind a trill of warmth before it vanished.

He repeated the small motion a few times till he was sure all fingers of his right hand were moving, and then tried the left. That took a little longer, seeing as he was naturally right handed, but in the end he managed to curl them both into fists, flexing and extending the digits slowly until the stiffness eased a little.

Then he tried the same process with his toes, all of whom were a little less cooperative but in no worse condition at the end. Trying to wriggle his wrists turned out to be a real chore though. It took him quite a while in relative time to work out they were in fact _not_ restrained like he had initially thought, but rather stiff and sore and perhaps burnt (from his squirming) when he had been tied up.

Red alert flags popped up in his head at that moment. The last thing he remembered clearly was being force-fed some tablet-

For a few moments, crazy images of being strapped to a table and being experimented on came to mind. In fact, he realised after a minute or so, that wasn't so crazy an idea.

He immediately went off that idea though. There was no use panicking. That would just make everyone worried. 'kaa-san, Kouji, 'tou-san, his friends…

That reminded him, he had been thinking about one of them before he had fallen asleep, or lost consciousness…or whatever. What had he been thinking about? It had seemed important then, like he was running out of time to do or find something, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what. It was almost like it wasn't important anymore.

He finally managed to get his eyes open, and he stared blankly at the low-slanted and rather dilapidated ceiling for a moment, only then realising his breaths were coming out as short puffs rather than longer-drawn and quieter rotations. It looked absolutely nothing like his bedroom ceiling at home…or his mother's or Kouij's or Takuya's or Junpei's for that matter, the last two he'd only stayed over for one night apiece. It didn't even look like the hospital ceiling, which summed up all the places he had voluntarily fallen asleep in. It wasn't like he'd ever slept over at Izumi's place (which wasn't unusual; the others hadn't slept over at _his_ either), and the only time they'd stayed over at Tomoki's was when they decided to camp out in his new tent in the backyard…with the sky acting as the ceiling.

It, in fact, didn't look like any place he recognised, but seeing as he hadn't been able to tilt his head far enough back to see the ceiling before, it probably didn't mean anything at all. Especially seeing as he didn't know where he was, or even if this was some messed up dream where he was frozen in terror…with a migraine warping it up and feeding some pain into the mix. A little voice at the back of his head pointed out that was more than likely wishful thinking though, like any other time someone had to live through a living nightmare.

That would figure, he thought with some humour. Spend all this time panicking and worrying and finding it was all a nightmare. But when he had nightmares, he normally didn't _see_ things vividly, though he heard up a storm and thensome. His apparently hyperactive imagination normally filled in the rest, but that was normally from the scraps he remembered after awaking. Sometimes he was lucky, especially when it was a migraine-induced nightmare (or so the Doctor explained, but somehow Kouichi felt differently…almost as if they weren't even nightmares to begin with yet connected with the migraines all the same), and he could remember absolutely nothing at all.

Sometimes he didn't even remember falling asleep.

Either way, it felt real enough, and the little voice reiterated the wistfulness of it all. His better hope was to find a way out of this predicament and back home or anywhere familiar than trying to wake up. If he did wake up and find out it was all a dream…well, that would be great. But he couldn't count on it. Especially since the little voice in his head was probably right and the rest of him knew that.

He tried his elbows, which were about the same as his fingers, then his shoulders which were mimicking the state of his wrists with one advantage; no rope burns. When he tried to push himself off…whatever he was lying on, he found the problem wasn't that his arms wouldn't support his weight, which while they trembled under the strain they refused to let him fall and hurt himself more, but the mere action of attempting to sit up sent enough agony through his system that it left him immobilised until his arm began pricking annoyingly. Seriously, he thought to himself. Sometimes the different parts of his body had minds of their own.

That's when he realised he was lying on his side and no longer on his back. Seeing no pairs of feet or any parts of the body except his own arm (he was right, there were rope-burn markings on his wrists though they didn't look quite as bad as he had imagined), he tipped his weight slightly so he was lying on his stomach instead.

Baby steps. If he couldn't sit up, he couldn't well work. So he'd crawl for the time being…though he'd first have to make sure no-one else was watching.

It took quite a bit of manoeuvring, and he bit back a squeal as his bare stomach touched the cold surface (what the heck had happened to his shirt?). He almost thought he'd be forced to drag himself on his stomach like a worm (though he was sure he read somewhere that worms did _not_ move like that at all), and while he couldn't muster up the embarrassment at the idea of _crawling_, he did at the prospect of having to drag his entire body around.

At least he knew now he was on the floor and not on some metal bed.

And by the time he managed to get to the door, his legs (and hips where the walking power was stored) decided they were more in the mood to cooperate. Jeez, just how uncomfortable was that stupid chair?

At least he could be fairly sure it was the same room he had been in before. The smell of cleaning products was a pretty good confirmation.

The next mountain to turn into a molehill turned out to be the door, but as he could hear sounds from the other side, as muffled and undistinguishable as they were, he didn't attempt it again. There was no way of knowing whether those on the other side were friends or foe and he wasn't about to risk that, especially seeing as the likelihood would not be in his favour…especially as while his legs were cooperating now, they still felt like noodles straining to hold up his weight (with the support of the wall).

He didn't know why he decided to walk in tight circles instead. Maybe because he didn't want to stay still. Maybe because it made him feel less helpless. Or maybe because he didn't want to fall onto thinking again.

It turned out to be both a good and a bad idea when the door suddenly flew open.

This time, three people walked in. Two he recognised vaguely; the man and woman from before (he remembered the woman better than the man because she'd been there longer, cleaning up with a scowl on her face), and one, the one with what looked like a toy phone…or an olden day one. In the modern era, the two somewhat amounted to the same thing.

Everyone froze.

The slightly familiar man stared, scowled, then jerked a hand at the smaller male, not taking his eyes off the boy.

'Get to it.'

The younger man squeaked and went straight to the furthest wall. Kouichi's eyes followed him, before snapping back and forth between him and the pair still standing by the door, focusing his attention entirely on the latter when the former started connecting wires with fluidity and the other turned his attention to him.

'I'm surprised you're up and about. You must have a stronger constitution than we had originally thought.'

'Perhaps we should have gotten your brother instead,' the woman, the medic or doctor or whatever she was, added. Perhaps the latter as she held the cold professionalism in his tone. 'He may have been less troublesome.'

His eyes widening was a purely reflexive action, and as such they didn't by a wholly noticeable amount. How did they know about Kouji?

'He's insurance.'

Once he thought about it a little, he figured it wasn't that surprising. Hadn't they known exactly how to take him out from under his mother's nose and how to deal a punch to her gut-

If it wasn't for the situation, he'd be seeing red.

'What is it that you want?' Each word was pronounced carefully, emphasis put on each with pause. He was still breathing a little hard; even walking about hadn't eased all the stiffness and pain and that didn't come without a price. Especially since he hadn't finished his lunch and thrown it all up with nothing to replace it in who knew how long…

He didn't know. That was another problem.

'What else?' The man shrugged, though there was something odd in his eyes. Something he could place, though he couldn't remember from where. 'Money or leverage. In your case, both.' He paused, gave a half-glance to the door, before pressing on. 'It's simple really. Hold kids for ransom. Get their parents to pay up a large sum, then-'

Apparently it wasn't so simple, because he choked slightly on what was left, almost masking the other's "done" as he finished setting up the phone and slipped out.

The woman turned to give the elder a somewhat patronising glare.

'My job's just to babysit,' he snapped.

As for the captive, of all the possibilities, wild and deranged some of them were, being held for ransom hadn't occurred to him. Maybe because he was still largely unused to having a rich father after living in the lower middle class practically all his life. Still, it had only been a year, give or take. He couldn't help but wonder if he really would pay a crippling sum for a son he barely knew.

And it seemed the pair had the same inhibitions. Why else did they need insurance?

The woman was apparently impatient, because she reached for the other's arm, the boy immediately snapping back.

'Just be a good dog and get back onto your chair,' she snapped. 'You'd think kids your age wouldn't be a problem. It's always something,' she continued to grumble, fishing around in her coat for something. 'Whether it's little brats not knowing how to do anything or older ones you have to beat the stubborn streak out of or girls screaming and crying-'

Now Kouichi for the life of him couldn't understand what that had to do with being good hostages. He also couldn't figure out why he was thinking of that, seeing as the other had pulled out a rather sharp needle out of her packet.

Needles could have just about anything in them, and the woman was screwing a vial onto the top.

'You seriously think we'd let you go after we get the money?' she asked, taking the safety off so the light from past the door caught the metallic sharp end. 'If people talked, the trade would be in quite a jeopardy. Take out a few people, it can still stand, but everyone gets more if we press our advantage just a little bit.'

Kouichi had backed away a little more from the woman whose sanity he was seriously starting to doubt. How could someone talk so carelessly and so emotionlessly. Even the man beside her looked a tad uncomfortable.

His mind still refused to process that. Because that meant….well, it meant a few things really. One: they were professionals, and enough people were involved that even if a few were knocked out of the run-chase, even if they turned traitor it seemed, there were enough to maintain the fold. It was a very frightening thought; all that had been going on under their nose. Two: more children had been snatched from their parents…and that reminded him of that girl on the news report, the one when he had been waiting for the Doctor the day before. It seemed so long ago now. And three: they had no intention of letting him go. If he was ever going to see his family and friends again, he was going to have to find a way out on his own. It was too much to hope for, if they hadn't found _her_, they'd find him…

He yanked away with a cry as the woman reached for her again, forward this time. She had expected him to go back, so it threw her off balance by the slightest amount, just enough for her elbow to smash into her skull with enough force he could muster (which wasn't nearly enough to do anything more than stun her) before slipping through the gap.

The other was surprised; apparently, he hadn't been expecting that. How could he not? What would _anyone_ do? But he didn't think about that. He just ran through the door, looking for the way out.

It was utterly hopeless. Doors lined the corridor and that corridor split into smaller ones, but they all went in circles.

'Give it up. You'll never find the way out.'

He ignored them. The doors. They were all closed. All unmarked. Could there be others in there? Like him? Or were they empty, devoid…

A last, horrible thought occurred to him as a gunshot fired and something flew very close to his right ear.

What if there were corpses? Children killed to keep the cover.

He spun around, both a mistake and a blessing. Because the next second someone, a complete stranger with a frame that seemed too large to be real had his arm in a vice grip, and the second after, he was hurtled sideways into stone.

There was a crack and a thud as sharp pain shot through his head, and then his forehead slumped onto a limp arm. The finger twitched slightly in his blurred view before falling limp and falling with a much quieter thud, the very tip of it stained slightly with blood. Fresh blood.

The woman's voice was back again, but unlike his sight her words were sharp and crisp. Too sharp.

'Give it up,' she commanded, though there was a sense of relief she managed to disguise quite well. 'I hate kids like you who think there's hope of escape.'

He tried to muster up an argument. But he couldn't. Something jabbed his arm, and he knew right then he was going back to that chair. That there really wasn't a way he could see that would get him out of this mess. Maybe someone would come and save him, but he couldn't rely on that. Not with so perfect a plan.

His mother's face swam into view, but soon it became indistinguishable with the darkness. The last glimpse he managed to catch of her was clouded and spoilt with the forming tears hovering on his eyelashes.


	9. Chapter 8

Author's Notes

I put the ransom as roughly $75,000 US dollars, so that's 6 million yen (it's normally around $60,000 but 6 million yen was a easier figure to handle). Japanese CEO's earn about 1.5 million US per annum, but that's less than their employees, contrary to other countries. The average cost of living is $1000 US dollars in Tokyo per person, not taking into account the extra things. I think that's the bare minimum. I don't know how much someone would normally request as ransom or in what circumstances and I can't seem to find it on the internet. And the Hawaii Five-O episodes I've watched had the ransom as people being released or cocaine shipments. No good here.

Negative transfer is when a series of things get you thinking in a particular way, then you get a similar question or scenario that requires to think a completely different way. I did my ERA on this in year 12, using the year 10s as my subjects. I was both the lucky and unlucky one; unlucky because I didn't have a partner but lucky because one of the teachers did me a favour and set up the class for me and then let my discuss my results with him.

I forgot to mention this, but uni's started up again. So slower updates, but I do have a few chapters of various things already written so my backlog will last a couple or weeks, maybe more depending on how I can add to it.

Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master?

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 8<span>

'How many cups of coffee have you gone through?' was the first thing Kousei heard when he woke up from his little "power-nap"…or what had been intended to be a power-nap. He had truthfully drank quite a bit, and would no doubt have drank more if it hadn't been for two reasons. The first was that the pot he had boiled the water in was dry and he, for some reason, simply couldn't bring himself to get up and fill it again for a reboil. The second was nowhere near as petty a reason; the police and the only private detective that seemed available had both come up dry.

'I'm sure you've been counting Satomi,' he yawned right back, too fatigued to figure out who it was that was talking to him. 'And you'll tell me when it's one too many.'

He looked up as he said that, then blinked. Satomi seemed to have shrunk. Then he blinked again, then a third time to find Kouji staring at him incredulously.

'I do not look like 'kaa-san,' he muttered, turning away, before reconsidering and taking the empty pot with him to the sink. For a moment, there was only the sound of the running water.

Then Kousei rubbed his eyes a little vigorously. 'Kouji?'

'Yeah.' Usually, there would have been a sarcastic reply to a misunderstanding as grave as that, even if Satomi had grown her hair out in the last year so it fell halfway down her shoulder blades. Somehow though, he felt that would be a bad idea. With his hair sticking out in all directions as it was, barely held in tact by the rubber band, he might have thought, or hoped, for a fleeting second he was Kouichi.

Heck, even he wished he was Kouichi. For the simple reason that he would know his brother was safe and sound.

'Right,' Kousei mumbled to himself, now rubbing his head to relieve himself of his headache. 'Kouji.' Perhaps he had a little too much coffee, even if he had messed up the proportions and had it too watery. Actually, it was probably a good thing he couldn't even grasp the simple art of making a pot of coffee, because otherwise he'd have been sitting on a seriously caffeine high and have to suffer even more painful and inconvenient circumstances as a rebound. 'Has the phone rang?'

Seeing as the cordless was right by his head, it was highly unlikely Kousei had missed a call. In any case, Kouji answered in a single no as he rinsed out the pot and cup before putting it on the drying rack and pulling out a bowl and an instant ramen packet.

'Is…there a reason I'm not under silent treatment anymore?' That was, admittedly, a very un-parental thing to say, but the situation was asking for it. But as Kouji _had_ done the dishes, and was now withdrawing a bowl of ramen from the microwave and putting in a second.

'Satomi left something in the fridge.'

'I'm sure she didn't intend for us to eat at eleven thirty and go hungry till six,' Kouji replied, dumping the bowl a little roughly, but with obvious peace-keeping intent as he mumbled something under his breath that his father knew well enough to interpret as an apology.

Kouji just withdrew his own bowl and started playing a little with its contents. There was no point in asking if there was any news. If there had been news, good news that was, his father wouldn't have fallen asleep waiting for the phone to ring. He lifted a scoopful of noodles to his mouth, before dropping it back into his plate. The smell was making him slightly nauseous.

No wonder too. He'd somehow managed to grab the one flavour he could barely stand. Now that it had been heated up, he'd have to eat it, otherwise it would turn into rubber and his father would be scolding him for wasting food.

If he looked up, he'd realise Kousei was also playing with the chopsticks and the contents of his bowl, actually grimacing when the scent wafted up to his nose. Kouji had actually been right in realising he hadn't had his breakfast yet. He'd be making do with a little more than his usual cup of morning coffee. But coffee, especially more than two cups full, had a habit of ruining one's appetite.

If Satomi had been home, she'd be forcing food down both their throats. The poor woman was at the end of her patience with the two idiot men in the household. It was a miracle she had lasted so long, but the last couple of days had been pretty trying on everybody.

They were all just lucky they had friends around. With the kids the Kanbara boy had rounded up within ten minutes through rather unspeakable means, ranging from the closest group of friends that was the centre of the Venn diagram to Kouji's kendo team, Kouichi's, Takuya's and Tomoki's soccer teams, the elder brunette's baseball team and some friends of Yutaka's from college both sets of parents were sure the twins had only met once or twice at the most. More than half the people Kouichi didn't even know, but they'd made quick work of all the areas between the Kimura's apartment and the Minamoto's house…somehow. Miracle working probably, but apparently having a lot of people who knew a lot of people payed off and they worked in a search-grid. The adults had started with a different sort of search-grid. It was amazing how they'd managed to come up with absolutely nothing.

And as the police _kindly_ pointed out, they could do nothing until there as a ransom call. _If_, there was a ransom call that was…but as the detective had pointed out, considering there had been several kidnappings about a month apart in a loophole fashion, all for ransom, the likelihood was actually quite high. Unfortunately, that made the chances of finding him a little low as well, considering he didn't actually _live_ with his father. Why, the detective had asked, hadn't those kidnappers, if they _were_ after ransom, have gone for Kouji? What was their motive going for the other twin?

While they were at it, they might as well question what was their reason for kidnapping pre-teen and teenage children and get money off the parents, and then never return them? Between all the searching everyone had done over each child, they'd probably searched the whole of Japan at least twice over. More or less.

It was rather embarrassing no-one had found the person, or people responsible. Most of the kidnappings, furthermore, had been inconspicuous. Security cameras had been blurred enough to not pick up any defining features in each individual case, and when they had put every image they could find together…either they were masks or different people. Or both. And every person private detectives had managed to catch (the police were unfortunately utterly useless when it came to child abductions) had proved to be ill connected with the rest of the system. Simply pawns in a much larger game.

In other words, everything had come up dry, but those closest to the victim (or the victims, depending on how you looked at them) weren't about to give up. Satomi had gone over to Tomoko, and Kousei was waiting for any updates, having people he owed favours too doing the best they could in finding his son. And they knew him well enough to do their best in not letting him down.

Apparently, they were all stubborn people. Every single member of that, admittedly a tad unconventional, family. Of course, each one of them had gone through a "breaking-point" moment as well, which had succeeded in the end in bringing them closer together. But like everything else, it had to get worse before it got better.

Whoever made up that damn cliché, Kousei thought to himself, should roast in hell for jinxing the entire world when they said that line.

Then he looked at his other son, who was still picking morosely at his food. 'I had a dream,' he said suddenly. 'I couldn't make heads or tails of anything, but I was…well, I was scared,' he admitted, glaring at the slightly smoking ramen. 'It felt like I was losing something, and the worst part was, I couldn't _think_ about anything…'

Kousei couldn't help but stare a little. It wasn't every day Kouji decided to spill his heart out, even of late. Late as in the last year or so. But the fact of the matter was that Kouji simply did not mince words. _Kouichi_ did…a lot. But not Kouji.

'I'm sorry,' he said suddenly, either going completely off the tangent or apologizing for his little epiphany. His next words made it clearer, even if he was mumbling them. 'I shouldn't have yelled at you. I know you love him.'

'I love both of you,' Kousei said, pushing his chair back with a scrape before leaning over the table and embracing the other loosely. 'And I love both Satomi and Tomoko, even if I am no longer married to her.'

Kouji, surprised, hugged back for a moment before pulling away. He knew it. He had just been hurt, and upset, and scared. He was still all of those things, but it did feel better knowing everybody was doing everything they could. He would feel better still if he knew Kouichi was safe and sound, but contrary to what a lot of people (none of whom knew him at all) believed, he knew his brother was strong. If anything, the Duskmon saga of his life had given _him_ more hope to that fact; lightning could seldom be made to strike in the same place after all.

'You and 'kaa-san fought.'

'It is a stressful time.' Kousei withdrew his warmth and rubbed his head again. 'I'll admit I blamed her. We agreed when we divorced that you would be my responsibility and Kouichi hers, but it is not that simple. I've asked myself many times since then, if someone does ask for ransom, whether I'd do the same thing for him as I would for you. Whether I'd give them what they want in the knowledge that few people return to their families once the demands are made, or risk everything trying to find him with the possibility of being the sole hand responsible for anything that happens as a consequence.'

He buried his head this time, giving up trying to get rid of the headache.

The phone rang at that moment, and he hurriedly snatched his head back up and answered.

'Hello?' he said hurriedly, forgoing common courteously in the slight feeling of urgency.

'And here I thought all businessmen acquired common courtesy at the very least,' an unfamiliar voice replied. 'Or perhaps you need nothing more than the money you already have.'

A hissed breath, and he quickly left the table and his son…just in case, stopping just outside the door. 'Who are you?'

'Someone who has one of your precious children.' There was a pause, as if the speaker; he couldn't even place whether it was male or female, was considering something. '6 million yen. Unmarked. Cash. I'll call you again tomorrow at this time with instructions. I await your answer then.'

There was a click as the caller hung up, and then the dial-tone.

* * *

><p>6 million yen was…a lot. An average person could live at least three years, maybe four, with that sort of cash in hand in Tokyo, even longer in some of the more country areas, provided they weren't studying or being abstentious in their spending. Someone could study two years at Tokyo University, give or take a little, including all costs of living: accommodation, food, fees…6 million yen just wasn't the type of money someone had lying around. It was to be expected though. That was probably the reason why they targeted the wealthier inhabitants of Japan. It was more profitable. But still, 6 million was more than they had asked from any other family.<p>

They did save money for college, as much as they could spare. They had money for "rainy days". They had cash on hand. They had assets. They had friends; they could gradually pay off loans on a later date. They could mortgage the house. The bank was open. Theoretically, it was possible to get that much money, but…

'There is no guarantee,' the middle-aged detective sighed.

He'd just finished grilling the father on the telephone call, trying to milk anything that would be of use.

'If only there had been some background noise.'

But there hadn't. Luck was against them. And not only that, but time was against them too.

In movies: TV dramas and that sort of thing, the police or the special task force always found the children abducted before anything happened. They always said not to pay the ransom. When it was a group, the kid of the parents that did pay the ransom came home in a body bag while all the others were safe. But this wasn't TV. It was real life. Only 40% of children were released after paying a ransom, and considering there had been several in a chain that had _not_, the guarantee for a safe retrieval was extremely low. In fact, the chances he was still alive were pretty low too.

But if they'd somehow managed to connect the dots, that meant they were getting close. And the detective said as much.

'I'm not risking my son's life on the chance that you lot _might_ find him,' Tomoko had snapped, a little shrilly. Understandably so since she had head all the news reports, and seen through the sugar coated facts. 'You haven't found anything so far.'

It was true. Apparently one kidnapping had thrown them all for a loop. It hadn't fit in with the targets that had been predicted. The pattern was a tad different too; it wasn't unheard of forging legalities and using them to one's advantage, but the care taken proved it couldn't possibly have been a spur-on-the-moment idea. A little too well thought out actually, because it had thrown them all off track. Almost a classical example of negative transfer.

'What other choice do you have?' the other said, a tad coldly, before turning to Kousei as the woman turned her face away. 'Besides, it's not your call to make anyway.'

He looked at the father, who was looking at his ex-wife's face, drawn and pale, but with no tears outlining her eyes. Just like the day they had divorced. Just like the day her mother died (though he hadn't seen that part).

* * *

><p>'If something happens to him now, it really will be my fault.' He said it in a monotone, should his tone try and rebuke him.<p>

It was, without a doubt, one of the toughest decisions he would ever be faced with. It was worse, far worse, than signing the divorce papers. Worse than agreeing for the divorce; he could have fought custody with the courts and he had a possibility of winning too, what with Tomoko's illness, her lack of a job at that point in time (she had actually managed quite well, all things considered) and his own rather well off position, he stood a rather good chance of winning.

But that stranger, as much as one could argue had no emotional connection, had a point. It was entirely on his shoulders now.

'It won't,' Kouji muttered to his lap. 'It's _their_ fault.'

Just like it was Lucemon's fault, all that had happened in the Digital World…

He was going to say this. Thank God he had his family and friends. He couldn't even imagine what it must be like for Kouichi, all alone.

He closed his eyes. He wasn't exactly religious, but that didn't mean he didn't believe in a divine deity, or look to them in such needy moments.

_Please, don't let him suffer any longer_…

He didn't deserve it. Just like he hadn't deserved to be seized as a puppet and paraded across the digital world. But the world wasn't fair. That was what made it so beautiful and so deadly.


	10. Chapter 9

Author's Notes

Digital World time and real world time are in no way in sync. Sometimes months pass in DW in ten minutes (frontier canon), and other times a week or so can take a day or so. Still, DW time is always faster. Ever hear of the phrase "time runs true in the house and meanders elsewhere" or something like that. It's in the Keys to the Kingdom. In this case, the House is the Digital World.

The reason the narration is jumping around this chapter is because it's omnipresent Kouichi's POV and his thoughts/feelings/whatever are jumping around like that. The writing sort of reflects his state of mind.

Our nameless doctor is largely based of Mira in the Terra Nova series. Look up her story if you haven't heard of her.

I had a pet spider once. I'm saying that because there's a few references in here. It was a cute little one though, till my mum put it out in the garden.

Watashi wa anata o aishite means I love you. The entire sentence is: Otou-san wa, watashi wa anata o aishite, ie. Dad, I love you. It's a bit different to Ai shiteru, which is romantic love.

Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

Don't forget to leave a comment. Just no attempted murders; I'll be forced to hide myself away and we know what happens to updates then. As it is, I'm running on backlog which is slowly drying…seeing as it's taking multiple days to write up chapters I'd finish in less than a single one.

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master?

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 9<span>

'Hey, wake up and swallow. It'd do no good you starving on my watch.'

He heard her, the Doctor as he had come to call her. The last time she'd woke him up was with the same request. The time before just a tad altered. Actually, she had dabbed some stinging liquid onto the split skin on his forehead and the subsequent stinging pain had been enough to jolt him into consciousness (although not a total form of coherence; he was still struggling with that), especially as it didn't feel like any antiseptic he was familiar with, or even the old cobweb method his grandfather had been so fond of. Of course, if it had been _that_, the sting wouldn't have woken him.

Back to case in point, he certainly heard the sharp voice. It was kind of hard to miss, cold and almost snapping as it was, almost like a bird hovering over its prey. But he didn't feel like answering, or obeying for that matter. It was surprising, he noted with some form of grim amusement, how exhausting it was being a captive. Even the fear had pretty much faded away. He'd lost track of time. He was having trouble staying awake…not that he found that option particularly favourable. After his failed escape attempt (after which he could have sworn he heard a cynical voice comment that even if he _had_ found the stairs to the upper level, he'd have walked into one of the traps set up there and be utterly useless, which any idiot with half a brain could deduce would be a blessing masquerading around in the guise of the devil), it taken an age to gain his bearings again. During that time, as far as he could make out (which was actually just a tad murkier than his current situation), Loweemon, Agunimon, Ranamon, Mercurimon and their very annoying prisoner were crossing over the earth continent. The next continent as far as he remembered (and he just realised as he thought about it that the Digital World had reshuffled its locations) was the Forest Kingdom where the arachnid would stand trial for her numerous crimes.

Now what had that giant spider done?

Oh yeah. She'd trapped little baby digimon in her webs, placing them purposely (or so one would assume) in places where they played or gathered, somehow used her acid to dissolve them in a way that heavily corrupted their data but kept their forms stable enough to still exist, then wrapped them up into little cocoons. What she intended to do with those cocoons was anyone's guess. But it was still something they couldn't condone. But when a hopping mad Blitzmon had tried to defend the digimon on his continent, he wound up under Angewomon's care for an excruciating few weeks.

He'd have to be careful. If it weren't for the fact that his vision of those events were rather…hazy at best, he'd definitely be believing he was currently trapped in a continuous nightmare. He wasn't so sure he'd mind, if it hadn't been for his family and friends.

Only he was having trouble concentrating on them, and he wasn't about to let go of _that_. Especially since he wasn't fully awake in any case. He was, one could say, in an interim between being conscious and being subconscious. Sort of how he daydreamed in class most of the time he didn't need to give it his full attention.

Something seeped through his mouth and into his throat, and it _burned_. That snapped him out of it, and in normal circumstances he'd be rather annoyed. But the entire world had been dumped upside down, and his hands were almost completely numb. Even if he managed to untie himself or was lucky enough to be left untied, he probably would fail at opening the door.

He really only had one alternative. Keep hoping (so no-one murdered him the second he was rescued), keeping himself distracted and trying to muster up enough concentration to reach out to someone telepathically (totally Kouji's fault). Lowemon seemed far easier to manage than Kouji for some reason. Of course, he didn't know how much of a help Lowemon would be. Heck, he wasn't even sure how far he believed the whole telepathy thing, beyond knowing whether he was dead or alive.

He coughed a little before swallowing the bitter liquid. The almost scalding fluid slid reluctantly through his throat (he imagined it like a spider digging its claws into the lining of his oesophagus and he couldn't help but think of the adhesive and cohesive forces of liquid (and most typically water) as slimy silky spider webs and sharp hairy claws). It was a very good thing he wasn't arachnophobic otherwise he would probably have driven himself into a state of psychosis…or an anxiety attack at the very least. Still, if it wasn't for the fact that he felt persistently light headed and altogether "murky", he'd be creeping out. Oh…_that_, and the fact that it was perfectly _normal_ to feel like your throat was made of sandpaper instead of a smooth epithelial layer stretched over the inside of a muscle tube like silver coating on taps that avoided a quick rust. Heh, that was a good way of describing it. His rusty throat. Considering all he'd had since the…well, he didn't have much choice except to call it a kidnapping (he thankfully noted that being a prisoner inside his own head while emotions of uncontrollable anger, hatred, pain and hunger (the last purely animal instinct) raged on with his body wasn't on par with his current experience), was a few mouthfuls of water at a couple of different intervals (he' lost track of the times), it was no wonder. It was probably to make sure he didn't dehydrate, but that hadn't explained the pricking feelings he had been feeling earlier. Almost like pins and needles. But everything was numb now. Even his head, and that had been hurting something horrible.

Even his thoughts seemed numb. Sort of like he was still largely stuck in a daydream (or the regular sort of dream perhaps; he wouldn't know). That was why most of him was still thinking about Lowemon and Archnemon and less of him had been paying attention to the woman and whatever was in the spoon she had jabbed between his lax lips and jaw. It certainly didn't taste like food, he realised, taking care not to swallow and simply allowing his pharynx (or whatever was actually doing the absorbing in his mouth; he thought it was the pharynx but he wasn't entirely sure) to absorb the liquid. It tasted a little like the stuff they (the Doctors) had given him in the hospital between the IV line and eating solid food. The chewing had hurt for awhile. It had something to do with signals being muddled when his jaw moved too much. But he hadn't been able to swallow much either, so that had ruled out the regular broth.

'Just a bit more and then you can go back to happily ignoring me.'

It was the raw pain and bitterness within the frigid iceberg that made him force his eyes open and look at her. His vision, like everything else, was hazy, but that could have been credited entirely towards lack of use. The truth of such a crediting however depended in the amount of time that had passed. He didn't quite trust his internal biological clock, even if it wasn't on vacation in the only oasis located on the half of the earth continent that didn't have the luxury of bordering the Forest Kingdom. In fact, they had the unfortunatenesses of joining up with the fire kingdom, as well as small parts of the steel kingdom. The downside of the new arrangement was that it was no longer possible to catch a Whamon and travel to anywhere on the ocean or a Trailmon to anywhere on land. Not only was there a no prisoner policy (after the whole Ofanimon fiasco with Angler and Cherubimon's _four_ warriors – Duskmon had not had anything to do with that), but bodies of water split the land into largish islands as opposed to one gigantic land mass.

In any case, the woman looked like a blur of white, reminding him somewhat of how he had first seen Kouji (in his human form that is, not as Wolfmon) in the Digital World, when he himself had been Duskmon and drowning in Cherubimon's influence. The painful sort of blur that struck a chord somewhere in his heart.

It took him a few minutes and another mouthful to work out why. Oh, and a snap to "hurry up" and swallow…which he managed to a partial success on the second try. The third attempt dealt with the liquid that had remained and the bit of reflux from almost choking on it. The fourth attempt when easier. He'd managed to keep the entire spoonful down, which was a definite improvement, and he could see a little clearer too. Some of the numbness was beginning to fade; he could feel something shaking, but he was still too disorinented to figure out whether it was him or the surface he was on.

'You're sad about something,' he said quietly as the woman-Doctor screwed the cap back on. 'An angry sort of sad. Almost guilty…'

His tongue rolled languidly over the words, a little sloppily as if he was speaking in a foreign language where he could understand but couldn't get his tongue, thorax and whatever other parts of his mouth worked at converting intention into coherent speech, to mimic the right accent.

The woman lifted her chin proudly, but there was a sense of turmoil behind her hard brown eyes. 'Many people say it's sad,' she said, her voice still holding that bitterness, but the other couldn't help but wonder if he had imagined the hurt. 'But I have children and I would do anything for them.'

Her tone suggested a suppression of emotion. No doubt it normally contained a fierce challenge, as if daring another to judge her, but she couldn't well do that to a victim in a system she milked to give her children a life. At the most she could grudge them for the superior lives they held, and rationalise (a coping mechanism if nothing else; you had to be cold to survive) taking a piece and putting it elsewhere, but it wasn't particularly their fault. Just like it wasn't the fault of her children they were born into a country whose condition was degrading by the day to a single parent who could not save them from the system by its own laws.

The bottle slid into one of her many pockets and she moved out of his field of vision.

'When you have less aspirations, those closer to the truth and lower to the ground, it hurts a lot less when you can't reach them.' Her tone had changed. She sounded sad. The regular definition of sad. Almost like his mother sounded sometimes, but her inner nature was kind and gentle, not the sort that can mould into a frigid ice pillar.

Amazingly, they were actually having a conversation. Somewhat. If they could call the single statement and it's slightly more lengthy reply. She had, in that moment, appeared as the image of a mother. She was one after all. She had children.

Just as he had a mother. And a blurry image of her teary, smiling face popped into view. Like how he had seen her when he had woken up. But it was so hazy; he'd never be able to draw it out, even if he used charcoal-coated fingers. It was like trying to draw his father's face; he'd never managed to build up a satisfactory image. He didn't see how that was possible; he should have been able to. After all, hadn't he met his father? Hadn't he ever gotten around to drawing his long awaited family portrait after the entire family had been reunited? He could only seem to remember its incomplete frame with gaping holes lying at the back of his dresser.

Then the door slammed open, then shut, and the spell was broken. Everything was broken, like a spider's web (he couldn't help the obsession with spiders; he was blaming that arachnid for the record) fluttering around in a strong wind, torn from its foundations and floundering desperately to find some footing, latching onto anything it could stick to as opposed to the care the spider had taken to originally create the masterpiece.

He was awake. He was actually fully awake and coherent, for the first time, as far as he could tell, since his meeting with the wall and consequent knock to the head. At that moment he completely forgot about that arachnid. He didn't even see her leering face smirking at him from her cage.

The light reeled. It was suddenly far stronger, as if someone was shining a torch in his eyes, before darkness suddenly struck with the force of a dull-bladed knife. His senses had finally awakened after…well, he had no idea who long but it was certainly a significant amount of time, and the shock of having them taken to two extremes in such a short amount of time was expected to hurt.

'Be quiet,' a barely familiar voice snapped…not that he'd even said anything. Silence was generally the best defence he'd found during the long weeks spent at Cherubimon's castle with digimon who's loyalties were entirely questionable…even if they didn't take too kindly to being told that. He had said to Mercurimon as much, the old one that is, and the concequence had propelled him to take on his first fight as a defence against that insufferable know it all and a upholding of his own pride. There were some other noises, some loud enough to hurt his ears a little (both of them had been talking rather quietly and there had been only the sound of his own breathing in between).

Then there was a one-sided conversation which he couldn't help but pay attention to. And it just struck him at that point that everyone there had been speaking to him in English. And he had automatically been responding in the like.

It was remarkable how, after thinking you were used to a situation enough to not be thrown into a reflexive reaction, you find yourself doing just that.

It hadn't taken him too long to figure out who they were talking to.

''kaa-san! 'kaa-san! _'tou-san!_'

He threw his weight forward on reflex, but strong hands latched onto his shoulders and held him in place. It was pointless, he thought for a moment. He was tied down already. Even then, he struggled a little uselessly before freezing again at the next words.

'I'm afraid I can't do that,' the speaker on this end said smoothly, and footsteps echoed as if the call, and the caller, were coming closer. 'You see, the less the web flails about, the better. But I'll give you an alternative. I'll send the scraps home in a pretty little box.'

The hands gripping his shoulders tightened enough to be painful, and if it had been a female with long manicured nails, perhaps she might have even been able to draw blood with the force being exerted. Too strongly to be a warning.

Perhaps it was the words the other had ended with. Or perhaps the sudden enormity had decided to rear its ugly and unrefined head, as opposed to lurking about on the sea floor. With a start, he remembered the other words which had terrified him so. He'd remembered the look on his mother's face when he'd seen her last. He'd remembered every feature in his father's form, down to the crease on his forehead that seemed doomed to remain there forever. He remembered Shinya hadn't allowed Takuya within a mile of his hair after the donkey tail had gotten stuck, complaining the other would shear it off completely, even though the other protested that he wasn't even carrying scissors on him. He remembered that once the tail had come off and everything had been said and done for the day, Shinya had swiped his brother's goggles as revenge and put them on a stray cat that somehow wound up in the garbage dump. He remembered Takuya had retaliated by swiping his brother's memory card and wiping it clean, and Shinya had combated with stealing the other's USB, accidently deleting a very important assignment and getting his elder brother suspended. He remembered their mother had been pretty mad at the both of them and sent them off to their grandfather's for the week. And apparently the old guy was an ex-soldier. He remembered _trying_ to remember all that what felt like an age ago but ultimately failing. But remembering it right then and there made the desperation in him bubble and churn even further.

It felt like how it had watching the elevator carrying his father drop. The sudden realisation that he'd never see or hear or talk to him again if he didn't do something. Without thinking he had ran down the stairs, slipping because he had gone too fast, too recklessly…It felt like how the spirits of darkness had ripped away from his own spirit, and with them, all the evil influence they had carried. When the weight of his feelings, warped and mutated, and how they had hurt people he'd never even met…

'_'tou-san_!' he shrieked, ignoring the pressure holding him back. His eyes were burning under the blindfold. They wouldn't stop him. They couldn't. Hands were holding him in place. Ropes were looped around his wrists and ankles, binding him in position. But nothing was tying his soul, his spirit, down except himself.

He realised, at that moment, that he'd never told his father he loved him.

'_Watashi wa anata o aishite_!'

There was a bit of a laugh that sounded almost sadistic. In fact, it did sound sadistic. Perhaps it if had been another time and place and circumstance, he'd have been trying to psychoanalyse the guy.

'How cute. You hear him screaming for you? I'll give you another chance.'

He had barely drawn another breath before he suddenly froze. For half a second, perhaps less, he couldn't figure out why his heart had stopped beating or his breath had caught in his throat. But then he felt something sharp, accompanied with a throbbing pain that was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. It was nothing like getting his digi-code ripped from his body. It was nothing like being crushed between pure light and darkness. And it was even more unbearable than either of those in a matter of a few seconds or so, because those had reasons. His heart suddenly felt like it had been doused in ice, and he could feel himself trembling somewhat, faintly though, murkily…

Drums echoed in his ears, louder but at the same time softer. As if the beat was slowing down. There was something coppery and bitter on his lips, but it was vanishing. His entire body felt funny, except his…something around his stomach or his chest. There was something warm on his skin, and he found himself partially thankful for that, because he was cold. Freezing actually. He couldn't seem to stop shaking. He couldn't get rid of the roaring in his ears, even though he felt so dizzy.

He tried to push himself to his feet, but he found he couldn't. It didn't even occur to him to figure out _why_. He urged his legs up. To run. Somewhere. Home maybe. People were always safe at home. Home would tell him what was going on. He couldn't see anything. The only thing he could feel was pain.

There was something else in his ears too. Something important. But it was gone. And then even the pounding of drums stopped. The pain stopped. The numbness became absolute. The darkness became absolute.

He _was_ darkness.

Mercifully.


	11. Chapter 10

Author's Notes

Three chapters to go after this, so I'll update for the next three Sundays.

Time-wise, this chapter coincides with the previous one, and there are some parallels. You might need to reread the previous chapter…unless you remember what happened at the end.

If anyone is wondering about to the significance of me using Arachnemon as a troublesome character, it's just spider symbolism. Apart from that, she's your usual digimon causing too much trouble and having a fan-club which can get pretty annoying. Sort of channels the "evil" Ranamon in that way.

Excuse my Mercurimon English. I don't think I can quite manage it, but I'll translate anyway. It sounded okay when I said it out loud though.

_Perhaps thy treatment of this quaint lady needs to be perpended._ – Perhaps your treatment of this beautiful lady needs to be considered.

_Tis but an assumption, but hath not the sun faded too early for thy afternoon? – _I'm just assuming, but hasn't sun faded too early for the afternoon? Ie. hasn't it set to early?

Did anyone realise that the last two chapters was also called chapter 7 on the page? That was my mistake. I copy the summary so I don't get too far off track (generally, not always) and for formatting purposes also the chapter title. I forgot to change it those times. I'll go and do that now.

A tad short, but it needed to be since it's purely a DW chapter. Enjoy, and tell me what you think.

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master?

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 10<span>

They really should have expected as much. As fickle a demon that Arachnemon was, she _would_ have a few tricks still up her sleeve. All of them had mistakenly assumed however that once the leader was behind bars, her straggling fan-club would break up. That was what had happened with Ranamon after all, a point which the fire-warrior had unwisely reminded her of.

The result had been a storm that left all three of them drenched. It was only the shields, one lionesque and the other a reflective mirror surface, that had saved their two (rather innocent, all things considered) companions from the same fate. Although it had been, Mercurimon grumbled, rather unbecoming to reduce his precious weapon and defence to a simple umbrella.

Lowemon had laughed heartily at that, causing the drenched water-sprite and fire-cracker to look over.

'Hey!' Aguninon shouted at the pair, who had wisely decided to bring up the rear and _not_ get tangled into their little snits. 'You two should have shared.'

'Only room for one,' the warrior of darkness said with a straight face and even tone, but Mercurimon couldn't help but crack a grin. Perhaps because the lips on his central mirror were the only way he could express emotion without speaking...if one chose to ignore subtle changes in posture. That was unfortunately a rather moot point on his part, as due to the reflective surfaces that covered a large proportion of his body he had very little "subtle" mobility to speak of.

'Don't _you_ give me that.' The blazing blue eyes glared at the warrior of steel. 'You've got two of 'em.'

He shrugged. 'Perhaps thy treatment of tis quaint lady needs to be perpended.'

'Why thank you sugah,' Ranamon said, flattered as she shook out water droplets from her fins.

Arachnemon shook herself too, but all four legendary warriors (doubling up as escort guards) were too far for the wayward droplets to stretch, although it would have done little except annoy them. Instead, they fell onto the cracked ground, the dryness quickly gobbling up its blessing of moisture.

The rest of the water was quickly sucked up as well. And a few minutes later Lowemon found himself wishing he _hadn't_ blocked the water, if only so it could now offer him some relief from the heat. Of course, the downside, and the main reason his reflexes had shot out to block the onslaught in the first place, was that the water had an inherent property that sucked the strength out of other digimon.

Luckily, not even that could get Agunimondown, otherwise the flame warrior would find himself being dragged by both legs.

Mercurimon, having absorbed the water, shot a little up to the sky before dousing his metal surface. Apparently, he was heating up in the sun, and no doubt, Lowemon assumed, it was far more painful than sweating bullets beneath armour.

He slipped his gauntlets off before removing his helmet, using the latter to store the former. His staff and shield only appeared when he needed them…which was a good thing as he could well do without the extra baggage. As it was, they were taking turns dragging the prisoner along in the sand in pairs, leaving him to lead and Mercurimon as the rear. He had to be the rear, otherwise the glare from the mirrors blinded the rest of them.

'_What_ is the point of havin' Trailmon?' Ranamon exclaimed at that precise moment. 'If they're on strike all the time. It's always one thing after ano'er. My wheels ah too hot. It's too dry. The tracks ah rusted.'

'Patience milady,' Mercurimon cautioned. 'Tis-' He stopped suddenly. 'Tis but an assumption, but hath not the sun faded too early for thy afternoon?'

Lowemon shielded his eyes with his spare hand, looking over to where the sun would set in a few hours to the west. Mercurimon had a point. It was far darker than it should have been at that point in time. None of them had noticed, but it had been growing steadily darker…and too early. The sun was almost hidden behind the mound of…

Hold on a sec. He narrowed his brown eyes, trying to stare closely. Was it just him, or was something moving there?'

He made to voice his observation, when there was a shriek from Ranamon. The next moment, she was flailing as the crack beneath her feet threw her off balance.

He just managed a glimpse of a silver nose when there was the unmistakable sound of something breaking. Then there was something swarming towards them.

It was almost like the ground was moving. But it wasn't. It was only until they'd managed to burn away most of the things they had assumed to be digimon that they realised that if the Kodokugumon were swarming them, then the mother had to be somewhere too.

Unfortunately, they all had their hands full, between the swarm attacking en masse (Agunimon and Mercurimon tag-teamed them), the Digmon that was drilling holes (Ranamon got that one by default), and Arachnemon, which left him.

And it was a very lucky thing he had his shield, otherwise he would be a gooey mass of green liquefied data. As it was, it was also very lucky that his shield, transparent as its design was, could block the acid and wasn't, like WarGreymon's digizoid shields for example, dissolved by it.

They should have realised the following of spiders had given up all too easily.

But the others should have realised that the legendary warriors had more than their digimon forms on their sides. They had the power of the elements too.

And the power of friendship.

* * *

><p>'Hey, Lowe. You okay?'<p>

The voice registered in his brain only half a second before the world spun, and he was coughing hard, and suddenly, every tidbit of data in his body was screaming out in pain.

It took several minutes after that for the coughing to halt. It to several more to process what was being said to him, namely due to the dizziness that had settled in.

'Come on. Let's get the lot of you back.'

The world blinked out again.

* * *

><p>'Tell me,' where the next words he heard. 'Who was playing the hero again? You do realise who has to patch the lot of you idiots up every time?'<p>

He blinked rather blankly, staring at the hazy ceiling and watching it come back into focus.

There might have been a sigh. Or perhaps it was just the whistling of the wind. He wasn't too sure. All he knew was he felt as weak as a newborn kitten not yet weaned off her mother's milk. Every breath, echoing strangely in his ears, felt like a chore. His head felt stuffed with fog and needles pricking at his head, and there was something numb sitting somewhere just below his chest.

The moment that registered, Angewomon's gloved fingers were gently prodding the distal area, her face hovering above his own, staring intently into his eyes, the irises of which looked about as clear as mud…literally.

When her fingers touched the skin under his ribcage, the pain suddenly hit him like a knife driving into his gut.

And then he was coughing again, missing the angel-doctor's confusion.

* * *

><p>The next time he awoke, every muscle in his body protested to the movement, namely because there was no energy in them. His chest felt oddly hollow though, almost like something had been removed. Something important.<p>

He raised a hand to feel the flesh (relative) under the armour.

'There's nothing there,' Wolfmon's voice said, somewhere next to his ear. 'Angewomon thought you might have been hallucinating from the poison. All four of you got a pleasant dose of it.'

'Pleasant?' The lion groaned.

'You wouldn't be saying that if you got a blast of that stuff in your face,' Blitzmon's voice interjected somewhere to his right…and a tad too loudly because it elicited a wince as his head thumped angrily at the noise. 'Seriously. That stuff's totally vile.'

'How'd you taste it?' Fairymon's curious voice asked.

'I didn't,' the legendary warrior of thunder replied. 'But Arachnemon's was bad enough. Dokugumon specialise in poison.'

'Eergh, don' remind me sugah,' Ranamon's voice groaned, sounding rather worn but otherwise alright. 'Was that Lowemon ah hear?'

Lowemon blinked at the ceiling. 'I haven't said anything.'

Fairymon squealed and made to hug him tight. Luckily, Grottomon was there as well, and he stopped her before she could physically crush his rib-cages. They may not have been hurt, but the echo of pain was still there.

'Now yeh have,' Ranamon yawned. 'Ah'm going' to bed.'

She fell quiet after that, and there was the sound of chucking. Blitzmon, if the warrior of darkness was not mistaken.

'So.' That was Wolfmon again. 'How are you feeling now?'

Lowemon blinked up at the ceiling. How was he feeling? That was a good question, but he didn't think he'd be able to come up with a simple answer.

His head was still slightly…well, light. It felt like it was partially floating, but less so with each awakening. Almost like the darkness in which he slept brought him closer to the ground of the Digital World, but further away from a dream he had been having, or another life he had been living. His chest on the other hand, or perhaps more specifically his heart, felt…empty. As if something was missing. Something had disappeared…and he'd never get it back. He just couldn't place _what_.

'I think I need some more sleep,' was all he said in the end. Somehow, that managed to sum everything up.


	12. Chapter 11

Author's Notes

This chapter is partially inspired by one of the episodes in Hawaii little bit in the third segment really. The girl gets kidnapped and then they find blood all over her jacket.

A nice long chapter? Know why? Cause I compressed the plan. Meaning more stuff in chapter, but less chapters. Two more actually. Well…one more, featuring the DW again (along with something you might or might nor guess) and the epilogue. This is actually my favourite chapter too. Enjoy.

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

.Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master?

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 11<span>

'_Otou-san! Watashi wa anata o aishite_!'

Those words managed to freeze his heart. Even worse was the dial-tone that echoed thereafter. Worse still were the three silent days attached at the tail, where it seemed everyone in the city was tethering at the edge of some giant see-saw about to crash down into a crevice.

It couldn't possibly be much worse as a father. But that was before he received the post at the morning of the fourth day.

'Special delivery,' the postman grumbled through his poncho, sniffing a little. It was raining quite heavily and a bitter wind was blowing northward with a vengeance. It truly was dismal weather, but unfortunately he'd signed the fine-print that forced him to drive through rain, hail or shine to deliver boxes and packages across the city. He had not however signed the one that said he had to act all loveydovey over the fact.

Kousei signed the contraption shoved under his nose (thinking more a moment that he missed the times where it was paper), and accepted the box.

It felt rather heavy, considering the size, but he found he had no problem moving it over to the table. It wasn't the sort of heavy that caused his muscles to scream in apprehension, but as soon as he let it go to take a closer look at it, his heart decided to start pumping faster.

'_I'll send the scraps home in a pretty little box.'_

That's what the unknown caller had said. The police were apparently still trying to track the voice, but had currently had no luck. It could easily be a fluke, they said. There hasn't been a murder yet.

He tore the masking tape off the box in both reluctant fear and a feverish haste.

And inside, was another box similarly wrapped…except for the corners stained with red.

* * *

><p>Kouji had been lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling when he heard the doorbell ring. He shot straight up with a speed that would have resulted in back-pain for anyone older, but slumped back down when he noted the post van parked outside.<p>

It would figure. Some stupid special delivery would get him worked up like that. Get his hopes up would perhaps be a more exact statement.

He didn't think of the delivery again until the doorbell rang a second time. This time, recognising the black car parked in the driveway, he drew in a sharp breath before almost flying down the stairs. He could feel something swelling in his chest, a mixture of fear and hope…for why else would the private detective come by unannounced?

But he'd barely made it to the entrance way when he almost ran into his father. And any question or statement flew out of his head at the shocked and helpless look on the other's face as he went to answer the door.

Kousei noted his presence a half second later, and suddenly his expression changed to thunder.

'Go to your room.'

'But-' Kouji began, before he was cut off as the other raised his voice, to a level that could be classified as "shouting".

'Go to your room. And _stay_ up there!'

He stared at his father a moment, before forcing a scowl onto his face.

'Fine,' he said a little coldly, dragging himself back upstairs. A few minutes later, he heard the click of a key turning in a lock.

Normally, that would make him mad. Heck, he was a little mad that whatever the new problem was (unless his father had simply cracked under all the strain and coffee he'd been drinking, which was actually quite likely considering the effects of caffeine), but he was more worried. About his brother, his parents…he couldn't blame Satomi for wanting to be out of the house as much as possible (she had left a little earlier for the shopping than she normally would).

He returned to staring hazily up at the ceiling, sleep pulling at his eyes. At the same time though, sleep was the last thing he wanted…or needed really. He'd slept for more than sixteen hours the previous night, almost double what he usually did. After all that though, he felt like he'd tossed and turned all night long in the throng of some nightmare.

Actually, he remembered, watching the shadows from his partially open curtains twist and turn upon the white ceiling. That wasn't too far off, because he did remember the sensation of feeling trapped, scared and alone in some dark place, and some sharp pain…and he'd probably screamed too, seeing as his throat felt a little raw. He didn't remember waking up though, and if he remembered enough of the nightmare, he really should have remembered waking if he had. The only natural conclusion he could draw from that was he hadn't.

As for the nightmare, it had passed into the darkness of his dreamless sleep so quickly and fled with equal haste that it could not have been natural at all. And now there was something hollow sitting in his chest, some extra weight he had to carry around.

Suddenly, he felt tears welling up in his eyes. The white walls started falling in, and he sat up with a panic that was nothing like his normal self as he tried for the door. He'd go out, he decided. Unless his father wasn't doing anything. Maybe they'd sit on the couch together staring listlessly at some random movie until Satomi came home and made an amused comment. They'd actually done that once, for the sake of each other's company. Understandably, they'd been mortified to realise they'd been watching some M rated romance story the entire time.

But the door was locked. And he just stood for a few minutes, frozen, before punching the door.

It didn't open, but his coat fell with a clunk, and the phone within its pocket tumbled out.

* * *

><p>'It did not come from the heart or the brain so didn't result in instant death,' the forensic scientist read from his sheet. 'But its blood does match that of the missing person.'<p>

'So there's a possibility he's still alive?' the detective asked, frowning. 'I don't want to tell them otherwise unless you can be almost absolutely sure-' She broke off. 'How about the blood?'

'Dried and clotting, indicating it's more than a day old when separated from the body,' the scientist reeled off. 'But the amount is no figure to go by, considering the organ was removed from the missing person, apparently while he was still conscious-'

'Enough,' the detective snapped. 'I don't need that amount of detail.'

'My apologies Hanajima-_san_,' the other replied, bowing a little before handing her the full report. 'But there is some good news though.'

'Oh?'

'Yes.' He nodded. 'The organ appears to be part of a lung. More specifically the lobe directly above the heart.'

'I thought you said it wouldn't result in death?'

'Oh, people can live with up to an entire lung, that's three lobes, missing,' the scientist explained. 'Depending on the method of removal of course. The fact that it was so close to the heart could suggest it as a means for torture, both for the missing person and the one this…parcel was delivered to. The good news however is, since it is a _lung_ and not another organ, we were able to grow cultures to determine the quality of the air he breathed during his…assumed captivity.'

'And how does that help?' the woman asked, a little frustrated.

'Well, air quality changes by subtle amounts depending on where a person is. The cultures were found to be high in levels of metallic, sulphur and carbonic fumes, suggesting the location is particularly near, or perhaps within, some sort of plant.'

'That is a help,' the detective admitted. 'But not a wholly significant one. Do you know how many factories there are in Japan?'

'A fair few,' the other replied. 'However you can draw a radius, seeing as the parcel arrived four days after the call.'

'I've got my assistant on that now,' Hanajima Kiku nodded. 'We should be able to pinpoint a general location from there.' Then, to herself she added: 'I must say this is a bit of a new twist to kidnappings. The "body" is normally not so ambiguous.'

'No,' the forensic replied. 'But you have to admit it's a hell of a lot more effective…except they might have slipped up a little with the lung.'

'Either that or they're at the end of their rope,' the woman frowned. 'And they've decided to leave us a few breadcrumbs to hit the rocks.' The frown deepened. 'Kyoto mightn't be the safest place in the world, but for children to start being kidnapped from right under their parents' noises by coercion methods that appear entirely legitimate-' She shook her head, leaving the statement unfinished.

'Sometimes you have to wonder what sort of world we live in,' the scientist agreed. 'It should be shrinking, but if it is, why haven't you found those kids yet?' His tone held no accusation.

The woman simply sighed tiredly. 'At least _I'm_ looking. But there are a fair few family and friends around too. And for no-one to catch a hair of…how many has it been?'

'If you can't remember,' the forensic scientist said sympathetically. 'It must be a fair few. There'll never be a shortage of children for anyone except for those who care enough to look.'

'Indeed. Even for me, who finishes her job and continues on with her life.' She sighed, brushing her hair away from her face. 'Keep working on narrowing the scope. I'll go help Makurada-kun.'

* * *

><p>'Ni-san? Did you try looking in the park?'<p>

Takuya bit back the retort that sat on his tongue. After all, his little brother _was_ trying to be helpful. One couldn't really help it when younger kids understood missing people to be someone to rendezvous at the park at a later time.

'Yes I did,' he replied simply.

Shinya looked up at him. 'Well…' he frowned in concentration. He didn't like his new older brother. He wanted the cheerful one that would fight with him back. As odd as it sounded, it wasn't like Takuya to restrain himself in any way. It just wasn't right, but all of his brother's friends seemed strained for the past few days.

He was starting to think that "my friend is lost" was more serious than he had originally thought. After all, when they'd lost Tomoki at the zoo once, they'd managed to find him within the hour at the ice-scream stand, where the boy pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone that _he_ had stayed in his place and the rest of them had strayed, making _them_ the lost ones.

'Did you try that funny looking toy thing?'

'Excuse me?'

Shinya waved his hands, most unhelpfully.

'The funny looking toy thing Kimura-kun had,' he repeated. 'It was…umm…' He thought for a moment. 'Grey with black grips? No! Black with grey grips.'

'Black with grey grips,' Takuya repeated slowly, before it hit him and he jumped up. 'His D-scanner! I didn't even know he still had it!'

'He said it was some sort of communication dev-Ni-san?'

'Thanks Shinya!' Takuya shouted, already at the phone, quickly dialling a number while his heart thumped away. Why oh why hadn't they thought of that sooner?

Then his excitement deflated for a moment. What good would one D-scanner do?

Then it shot up again. If the D-scanner wasn't on him, which it probably wasn't seeing as he had been interrupted during lunch, it might be able to track him.

'Kouji!' he exclaimed, a little loudly. 'Did you know Kouichi still had his D-scanner?'

There was a pause, then a bit of a sniff before a 'no' was heard.

'Are you crying?' The excitement ebbed away into concern.

'No.' This time the answer was short and clipped and entirely unbelievable. 'And no, I didn't know he still had his…' His voice broke off. 'Wait a sec…'

'We can use that to find him, can't we?' His voice was still rising several octaves, with an almost desperate exhilaration. 'The D-scanner should track him. Even if it doesn't work for the rest of us, Kouichi gave his spirits to you so…'

'…so it should work for me.' He could scarcely believe it. A possible solution had been right under their noses. _Why_ hadn't they known about the D-scanner? Perhaps Kouichi had simply assumed they still had there's; now that he thought about it, he didn't recall ever mentioning they'd turned back to cell phones. In fact, he didn't think he'd ever mentioned they _were_ cell phones to be begin with.

There was another thing they could talk about.

There was a pause, and then: 'Are you sure you're okay Kouji? You sound a little…lost.'

'Have you heard yourself?' Kouji shot back, before thinking for a moment. 'I guess I am a little lost. It feels like the start of the Digital World all over again. I felt him fall and hit his head you know, and I didn't even _know_ back then…'

There was another pause, and it stretched a little longer before Takuya spoke again.

'It'll be alright,' he said. 'You and Kouichi found each other then, didn't you? And now you two know each other, so this time you're looking too.'

'I wonder if that makes a difference…' he said quietly. ''tou-san locked me in my room.'

'Maybe he just doesn't want to bring you down with the possibility of something bad,' Takuya suggested after a little pause. 'But you sound like you need someone. I'll call the gang and we'll be at your house in-'

'Don't,' Kouji interrupted in a bit of a flat voice, though the tone suggested he was somewhat distracted elsewhere.

'Why not? You know we don't mind-'

'Shush.'

Takuya fell quiet, but he could make out no sounds at all, but then Kouji spoke again. 'I wonder what that was. 'tou-san sounded almost…'

'Hopeful?'

There was another pause, and then: 'yeah, hopeful. But-' There was the sound of a sharp breath as the brunette heard the sound of something, or someone, dragging up the stairs. He was sure Kouji could hear it too. After all, he was at the _bottom_ of the stairs and could clearly see there was nothing (or no-one) on them.

'Time to talk to your father?'

Surprisingly, he found himself listening to a mumbled conversation as opposed to an answer. Apparently Kouji had abandoned the phone instead of actually hanging up, either having forgotten or he was planning on continuing the conversation at a later point in time. The brunette found himself considering whether he should hang up and take the train over to Minami-ku when the phone was picked up again.

'Can you come over?' Kouji asked in a strained voice, sounding somewhat stuck between shocked and some degree of blankness.

Takuya didn't question the sudden pivot, nor the reason. 'Sure,' was all he said. 'I'll be over in five minutes. You want me to call the others?'

'I-yeah.'

* * *

><p>'Why did you want me to come all the way here?' Tomoko asked, more tired and worried than curious as she arrived at the Minamoto's doorstep around two in the afternoon.<p>

Satomi was the one who answered the door, simply shrugging helplessly and letting the other woman inside. 'I'm afraid I don't know,' the brunette said quietly. 'Kousei was the one who called you, didn't he?'

At the other woman's nod, she continued: 'he's become a couch potato. And Kouji's up in his bedroom with their friends.' Surprisingly, she was one of the few people who didn't stumble on that.

Evidently, she didn't approve of her husband's new appearance, having come home to find him staring at the blank screen of the television and having, as far as she could tell, not moved an inch since then. _Especially_ since he'd practically ignored her…which was unusual in any sort of situation. And when she'd knocked on Kouji's door, she'd received no reply, even though she could hear the breathing of five people behind it.

It made her a little more than just a "little" upset to be honest. After all, she was a part of the family too.

'Let's hope you can get more from him than I could then,' was all she said, taking the other's coat and hanging it up, before setting the kettle on to boil. She really felt like a cup of tea. After all, someone had to head their heads on straight, and apparently the onus fell upon her as the adult least emotionally connected with what was turning into one hell of a mess. Literally.

* * *

><p>Kousei didn't knock before entering his son's room, but only four pairs of eyes looked up at him. Actually, it was only three, because Takuya's eyes were immediately drawn to Tomoko, and the message he'd rung her with once he'd decided to ring her to ask about the D-scanner and found out she was coming out to Shibuya.<p>

She wasn't looking at him though, instead collecting her remaining son in a tight hug. Kouji made no movement either way, taking comfort as it was giving and having none to offer in return.

After a little while she parted from him, eyes red, and her gaze shifted to the box that, while slightly stained, sat innocently on the desk. Her breath caught and her eyes started brimming with tears, but she went over nonetheless, and doing what none of them had dared.

Then she withdrew her hand, slightly dusted with dried blood, and choked back a sob, eyes starting to spill over with tears, running down a single cheek before staying there, refusing to relieve her.

'I can't believe it,' she said hoarsely. 'I just can't believe it.'

She looked at her hand, but made no move to dust it off.

'The D-scanner?' Takuya asked.

Everyone stared at him, Tomoko rather blankly, but she eventually reached into her purse and drew the black plastic device out. 'I don't see what good it'll be…' she said quietly, unwrapping her hand…

…to reveal the screen cracked beyond repair.

Izumi stifled a gasp, then buried her head into Junpei's chest in an attempt to muffle the sobs. Junpei's hand came up to bring her closer, the other on Tomoki's shoulder who followed in the female's suit, glad that the tall orange hat they'd so ridiculed hid his face now. Takuya just stared at the blank screen, then wildly at every person present as if waiting for someone to shout out "April Fools" or the likes. But it was nowhere near April. It, he suddenly realised rather incongruously, was his birthday. No wonder his parents hadn't been home.

Of all the rotten times to have a birthday. In a way, he was glad everyone seemed to have forgotten (except perhaps his family; no wonder Shinya had looked extra worried). It just seemed so inappropriate to have a birthday on a day like today.

And to top it off, the rain hadn't let up at all. They were all somewhat wet, but catching pneumonia was the last thing on his mind.

Kouji took the device without a word, staring at the cracked screen. He didn't think it was even possible for the D-scanners to break; they'd tolerated so much. Hammer, heat, ice or flame, they'd always survived, unscathed. But somehow, it had broken, and Kouichi was never one to treat his things carelessly.

Then suddenly, it fell apart in his hands, into two unequal halves, revealing the snapped wires that appeared to have been pulled from a plug haphazardly enough to cause a hyaline fracture sort of break. It was soundless, seamless…but when he brought his hands together in an unconscious effort to bring them together, there was something missing. The two halves, while looking to have originated from the same puzzle, did not match up. As if a piece had been shifted from the middle, or there was another device out in the world, similar to this, that had swapped its half. Made it incompatible. Destroyed it beyond repair.

His lips parted slightly: salty, dry. He licked them and tried to speak, but nothing came out and he swallowed before trying again.

'He's still alive,' the younger, and now perhaps only twin, said quietly, still clutching the remains of his brother's D-scanner. 'He has to be. I'd know otherwise. And I think I've been dreaming about him. Something's different now, but he's still out there. Just like Duskmon. Somewhere…' He fell silent again, clutching the broken pieces of the device close to his heart.

Maybe he didn't entirely believe that statement at the time, but a few more nights validated it. Maybe not beyond all doubt, but he could feel it in his heart, the same hollowness that had hit him with the blow of a sledge-hammer in the elevator, that had persisted throughout the Digital World, all the way up to the Dark Continent, spurring him away from the best (and most persistent) friends he had ever had to look for something deeper, something closer, something more…

He knew, he just _knew_, that he couldn't give up on Kouichi. Even if he was going to live the rest of his life in delusion, fruitlessly searching for a lost cause, then so be it.

Because their destinies, their very souls were tied together. He wouldn't set out a funeral boat to guide a dead spirit home. He'd be that candle light, and he'd be the little boat too, collecting the wax that melted and floating on the water of death.

Or perhaps the dish function would go to all the other people in his…no, _their_, life.


	13. Chapter 12

Author's Notes

Well, this is the last chapter before the epilogue, and gives about as much answers as you're going to get.

_Watashi wa tsubasa ga kowarete iru _– I have broken wings. It's partially a reference to Lowemon/KaiserLeomon's fusion form.

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

.Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master?

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Chapter 12<span>

Maybe he had died on the operation table. Maybe it was all just a dream. After all, _he_, having recovered from that face-full of poison, was back on active duty, currently guarding the door to Seraphimon's castle. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the Celestials were letting him off easy, but there was some sort of court case going on, and guarding the door had turned out to be a lot harder than he had originally thought.

It was a sour thought. Nothing less. But after the portal had closed, he had been sure, so sure, that Kouichi had still been alive. That Kouji had made it to his brother in time, and called him back from the river that threatened to sweep him upstream.

He tried to remember something to prove him wrong. All he could get though were snatches.

He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning against the tree. Maybe he was thinking too much into things. No doubt he was just tired out. After all, whatever dreams that persisted still weren't clear enough to make out any distinctive figures…or rather anything at all. It just felt like a heap of darkness far away.

Without even realising it, he found himself drifting in darkness again.

* * *

><p>The darkness stretched on, and the coldness and stiffness settled. It felt almost like he was drifting. Maybe he was. Maybe he really was just having a bad sequential dream. Maybe he'd wake up and find the grass of the digital world under his feet and the trees gently fanning down air. It was probably early morning, because he could feel the slight chill that generally accompanied the mist that blanketed the forest before the sun had melted the dew away.<p>

For some reason it felt confined. As if he was stuck in a box. Or he was dreaming of being stuck in a box. He couldn't move to be sure. He felt tired, cold and somewhat shaky. It felt like it had really been a long day, but something was keeping him from sleep. Something was telling him he had to still be awake.

Cold blue fingers laced around each other instinctively…not that one could tell the colour in that blackness. Words drifted in his head, most of which he didn't understand and the rest he couldn't remember clearly enough to understand.

He was just floating.

* * *

><p>The second night was about the same as the first, with the added difference that came after the first attempt of anything was followed by a second. That sort of boredom of stretching out things incapable of holding one's interest…and yet being essential enough to follow. He couldn't wait for the third night, where Wolfmon would relieve him. Since when had the nights gotten so peaceful anyway and the days so hectic?<p>

He found himself struggling halfway through to keep his eyes open.

* * *

><p>A bang made him lift his head. The lid above him opened. Something was thrown in: food by the looks of it, before it slammed shut again, leaving him in darkness.<p>

He hesitated a moment, before raising it to his mouth and taking a bite. It fell apart, tasting like nothing, feeling like nothing. It vanished pretty quickly, as if had never been there.

He found himself hoping he'd wake up, having fallen asleep after his post in the forest. There were meat apples there, much more appetizing than dream food.

The light came back, and then something suddenly fell on his head.

* * *

><p>A meat apple suddenly fell on his head, startling him and causing his head to smash against the tree branch. That caused a few more to fall on him, and when he finally had the sense to look up, the warrior of darkness found a few bird digimon feeding on the raw protein in the light of the sun.<p>

And laughing at him.

…well, he couldn't help it if staring at a forest and a castle door was so utterly boring. But he would have sensed if anyone tried sneaking away. Elemental sympathy and all that; probably why Seraphimon had asked for him specifically, even if he wasn't entirely up to snuff.

He took a meat apple, then set about making a fire. No way _he_ was going to eat them raw.

* * *

><p>Something felt cold and stiff around his neck, and something further echoed in his chest. Both those feelings felt far away though, as did the force bearing him somewhere. He walked, more because it simply felt futile to resist than he <em>wanted<em> to, but he couldn't help wishing his dreams _didn't_ involve so much exercise. No doubt he'd be starving, and Fairymon would be fussing over his diet, claiming he'd get "fat". As if. He didn't have an ounce of extra fat in his body thank you very much. But try telling that to a woman.

He shrugged mentally, finding his physical body…err, physical dream body that is, following suit, causing the noise of some sort of rattle, but when he looked down, his hazy vision only succeeded in making out something shiny.

Someone said something in an undistinguishable dialect, although he felt like he really should have been able to understand. In fact, he was sure he did; someone had mentioned it at some stage or other. It even clicked, but it seemed so far away that a moment later he found he couldn't recall its exact meaning.

The message was obvious though, and he dragged himself along, thinking of fresh green grass moist with dew and sweet apples and the shade of large trees as bare feet dragged through hot sand…and then dry soil.

* * *

><p>'Lowemon? Are you sleeping with your eyes open or doing Kouichi's homework for him?'<p>

'I don't know what he's doing,' Lowemon responded automatically, blinking away the shadows. 'I haven't dreamt of him for a while now.'

Wolfmon frowned at that. 'I always thought the connection between you two in particular was very strong.'

'It was,' the other agreed. 'Until that whole mess with Arachnemon. Since we started chasing her, my dreams have begun making far less sense, and now I can barely remember anything of them at all.'

'Well…' the warrior of light commented with a little forced amusement after a pause. 'You were certainly talking a lot in your sleep last night.'

'I guess I-' Lowemon began absentmindedly, before shooting straight and hitting his head against the tree branch again, immediately afterwards thanking the helmet. 'Hold on…' He suddenly groaned. 'If I had fallen asleep waiting for you, you could have woken me up.'

The wolf suddenly grinned. 'You looked so tired out I decided to let you sleep. Besides, your mumbling kept me awake.'

The other blushed under the helmet. 'What was I saying?'

Wolfmon shrugged. 'Nothing in however much English Kouji knows.'

'It could be anything then,' the warrior of darkness sighed. 'Kouichi had a habit of reading the most random books during elementary school, including ones not entirely appropriate for his age. Some of those were language books, so…'

'So it could be anything.' Wolfmon suddenly snickered. 'Someone must have been desperately bored.'

'No,' the other shook his head a little tiredly, his mind still caught up in the fog of sleep. 'Just lonely.' Then, returning to the original question, he added: 'I don't think they have such subjects in normal Japan that cause them to talk in languages other than Japanese or English.'

'You make it sound like that's a bad thing.'

'No…it's nothing to do with that.'

The two hybrid warriors looked at each other for a moment.

'It's about your dreams and Kouichi, isn't it?'

'Well…yes. I can't help but be worried.'

Wolfmon nodded. 'I feel worried too.'

Lowemon's head shot up. 'What? Why?'

'I think because Kouji is worried. After all, there is no reason for me to be. But I also think that whatever happened has passed now. I felt that shock about four days ago. We all did, and I know you felt it too. The chest pain that Angewomon could find no source of?'

There was silence for awhile as the Warrior of Darkness tilted his head up to look through the leaves to the sky. 'You don't think he's…dead, do you?' he asked finally, and almost hesitantly, as if asking for something he knew he wasn't going to get but feared being turned down anyway.

Wolfmon thought for a moment, before slowly shaking his head. 'If he was you would know it,' he said, and with enough conviction that the other couldn't help but believe him.

'All right then.' He turned to the sun. 'I guess I'd better head off.'

'One more thing,' the other hailed him. 'Next time, can you dream-talk in Japanese…or perhaps very scattered English so I can understand?'

'Wolfmon, you make it sound like I do it intentionally.'

'What were you dreaming about anyway?'

Lowemon paused, thinking. 'I don't think I was,' he answered finally with some puzzlement. 'But if you say I was talking in my sleep I must have been.' A small frown played on his lips. 'Whatever it was, it's long gone.'

'It was probably of no consequence then.'

The topic didn't come up again for a very long time.

'I wonder how long before the gate opens.'

'I can't be all that long now. Turmoil has already begun to grow.'

'Simply the seeds have been sown. It takes years, perhaps even centuries for them to foster into enough of a threat.'

Wolfmon sighed and looked up at the sky. 'At this rate, we'll be forgotten before our two worlds connect once more.' Then he reconsidered his statement. 'I highly doubt that _they_ will forget.'

'You fear them passing through the natural course of time? But their time does run differently from ours.'

'It is not only time Lowemon,' Wolfmon pointed out. 'But how they perceive time as well.'

'Indeed. It's hardly of any consequence now.'

'Isn't it?' Wolfmon's voice took on a slightly amused tone. 'Aren't you already late?'

It was more amusing watching Lowemon try to race through the forest.

'Geeze, just fly. It'll save you time.'

'Steel wings aren't particularly helpful for flying long distances.'

* * *

><p>'Why do you still bother dreaming?'<p>

The addressed looked up from his work, the almost mechanical labour that felt, at best, like an ill-fitting glove.

A sort that was several sizes too big but managed to cling to enough skin to hold it in place.

'Because one incapable of dreaming is dead.'

'We're already dead.'

Another seed went into the soil. '_No. Not until we actually believe that_.'

He looked at the little piece of green in a land of brown.

The other stared at him. 'What language are you speaking in?'

'The one that comes naturally,' the other replied, this time in the only language that was comprehensible. 'Don't you dream at all?'

'Dream about what? There's nothing out there.'

_He _knew there was. , friendship, happiness…things that lived on even in dreams. Smiles, blurred as the faces were beyond distinctions. Laughs tinkling in his ears.

'Yes there is.'

'In your dreams. But you'll stop dreaming soon enough. Everyone does. There _is_ nothing out there.'

The man looked almost sorrowful as he stood and swept away…before pausing and blinking. There, on the metal that had been temporarily cast aside, there was a symbol crudely drawn. And it was none he was familiar with.

'You might as well stop dreaming kid. It'll only hurt you more.'

'I can't stop.' Was the reply. 'Because then I know I'm dead. Even if I only live in my dreams, running free as a protector of the land, I'm still alive…'

It was truly sad hearing that sort of thing being said.

'I'd set you free if I could. I'd set you all free.'

But he was a slave to the trade as much as the younger ones. The only difference was the circumstances, and the end condition.

'I already have wings,' the other said. '_Watashi wa tsubasa ga kowarete iru._'


	14. Epilogue

Author's Notes

There's an undefined time skip between the last chapter (the real world parts) and this one. Suffice to say, everyone's out of school. Beyond that is kind of irrelevant.

You notice I haven't mentioned what happens after the events of the last chapter, ie. do the kidnappers strike again and go for Kouji, or is the analysis of the…part of lung enough to catch them, or does Kousei wind up paying them in fear they'll take his other son too? And how many are caught (if they are)? Is it enough to stop the trade, or does the main brunt leave and start again somewhere else? That's not the point of the story, so I didn't specify. Please note though you can't stop such a thing forever. After all, children are still getting kidnapped and sold as slaves today and the trade started hundreds of years ago. The summary and title are a tad misleading in that sense. That was on purpose mind you. What it really referred to (in part) was the slave trade mentioned here in the epilogue. The last chapter should be more clearer once you've read it, but just in case, the parts with Kouichi in them were either in a shipping container being shipped abroad with other "potential slaves" and the last scene was at the plantation mentioned in this epilogue. The other man was also a slave, but of a different sort. Remember the convicts? Some of them rose in rank, but they were still slaves in essence. Still tied down.

As for what happened with Kouichi…I guess I do have to explain myself after all. I was hoping to avoid that, but I suppose it was a little too sublime if you didn't read the finer points carefully (or forgot the previous chapters in waiting for updates). What physically happens to Kouichi isn't really of any importance. Mentally…it's to do with the connection between himself and Lowemon, which because he didn't physically go to the DW turned out to be stronger than that of the other LWs. His soul pretty much became unstable rather quickly (aka. The migraines and memory issues) in the real world and began to fasten itself into Lowemon's personality fully. By the end of that process, Kouichi is still alive (he was the character in the alternating scenes with Lowemon, so he was the one who spoke in Japanese at the end – I didn't mention him by name, because do you count "Kouichi" as the body or the soul? Another interesting thing to think about), but the reality he perceives (the more clear of the reality vs. dreamscape) is that of the Digital World, not what his body is living out. So essentially the reality becomes his dream and the dream/DW his reality. At that point Lowemon can no longer sense Kouichi's presence/actions/what not in the real world (the last chapter) except as blotted out dreams because essentially that is what is left. In a way you can look at it as escaping into an alternate reality. He was lucky in a sense, because he had that to fall onto when he lost everything else, and that kept him going. You'll see what I mean in this chapter. It's very easy to lose hope. It happens to the others too, but much more slowly because their soul isn't as unstable because their bodies went with them to the Digital World. Kouichi's body remained in the real world, so the connection deteriorates far quicker. Because this fic is largely omnipresent POV, it's a little difficult to portray clearly. But remember it was Kouichi initially having those blotted out dreams. His became clearer as Lowemon's waned into that black confusion. That's why what happens to Kouichi's physical form is left ambiguous. If I specified whether he lived or died, continued as a slave forever or escaped or was set free or whatever, you'd get caught up in that ending and not think about the main points. This is one of those fics that is designed to make people think, but I suppose I owed you guys that explanation at least.

Okay, that wasn't that long in my head. At least it's still under 2000 words, otherwise it wouldn't be much of an "epilogue". I've always seen them as shorter than the actual chapters…but the lengths _always_ get messed up.

And this is it. You know, with all the ways this fic could have gone, it was quite difficult having to end it. Hence why it's a little open ended. There were several endings that could have gone down, but I'm not a fan of multiple endings…not for a single fic anyway. And no sequel...even though I guess there is room for one after this epilogue. It's an open ended ending. From there on out, it's what you readers think. I don't think a closed ending would work here anyway.

Anywho, hope you enjoyed this very confusing ride (and I thought Bloodstained Night was bad). And thanks to everyone who reviewed, favourite, alerted or just plain stuck with this fic. It's thanks to you guys that we're here.

Enjoy the last instalment to Slaves to the Trade. See you all later. :)

* * *

><p><span>Slaves to the Trade<span>

Money. Power. Domination. These things caused his world to be stripped away. 'You may hold my body, but my soul is free.' Can that truth be saved, or is it doomed to be forever squelched beneath a master?

Character/s: Kouichi K

Genre/s: Drama/Angst

Rating: T

* * *

><p><span>Epilogue<span>

'What are we doing out here?' Kouji half-groaned to himself, not even sparing a glance at his companion as he trudged through desert sand in black boots. It was actually a smarter idea than it sounded like; while the black conducted heat, it became trapped in the plastic, making the outer surface feel like a furnace but the inside rather nice and cool…all things considering. Suffice to say, their feet weren't baking…although the same thing couldn't be said about their heads.

'Do we have to wear these dumb helmets?' Takuya groaned fully. Apparently those two were still inseparable, although how they both wound up in this particular situation was beyond them. After all, the raven was a doctor currently doing overseas volunteering in third world countries hit rather badly by the famine, and Takuya was with a completely _different_ volunteering agency doing a rather rudimentary job at making sure to keep as many people alive. That job varied between shooting at soldiers or civilians at the verge of a civil war to simply shepherding supplies and aid around countries.

They supposed it was entirely by coincidence that they wound up at the same camp and trooping off to some sort of massive plantation in a pair formation. Actually, there were two more pseudo-soldiers behind them, but they had apparently formed a pair as they were chatting away with no regard to their two companions…much like them in fact.

'Yes we do,' Kouji sighed. 'Apparently there's some sort of uprising.'

'Well, they keep _slaves_ there,' the other exploded, throwing up his hands with more energy than any other would like to spare. 'Were they expecting it to be fine and dandy forever? If they do get killed, it'll be no more than they-'

'Don't even say it,' the other interrupted, and the brunette fell silent.

'Sorry,' he said, after a small pause. 'But…you know.'

'I know.'

'Finally,' the female soldier behind them sighed, taking off her helmet and wiping the sweat away before replacing it over blonde hair. 'Good thing all we had to do was go straight.'

Kouji looked a little blank at that. 'We just went straight?' he muttered to himself.

'Apparently.' Takuya, funnily enough, looked just as lost, before he shook his head. 'Really, it's a miracle I made it through high school. But everything goes topsy turvy one moment, an d then it's crystal clear and fresh the next, almost like the smell of freshly baked bread and charcoal chicken if you get my drift...'

'Everything except for the food references,' the other said, looking skyward. 'It's more like…well, yin and yang for me. During the day, anything clear seems to be light while some important stuff lurk behind the shadows, and it flips at night when I'm asleep.'

'You never can stay up anymore.' It had started during their final year of elementary school, when they'd lost one of their own, and it had persisted. It probably would persist until Kouji found his brother and the twins pulled their balancing act again, but it had been so long someone could easily walk past the other and not even know it. Not them though. Especially not after they'd started dreaming clearly about the Digital World and the digimon happily living even as they caved under the constant pressure of a new war. They saw very little of the war though, even if they saw a lot of its effects. Effects that were paralleled by their own changes in personality…or perhaps it was the other way around. It was hard to tell. They did know though that Lowemon seemed to be doing well. Better than their partners if truth be told. As if there was some burden they were carrying that he wasn't. And no-one could fathom that to be a bad thing.

They stepped over the threshold, looking for a moment at the dried plantation that had soaked up years of unjust labour, and then Kouji was suddenly hit with a strong and almost dizzying sense of déjà vu.

'Minamoto-kun,' the male behind them shouted in alarm as he swooned, but he forced himself straight again. The next moment, he was running across the field into the warehouse that barely stood…before freezing in the doorway.

It was evident that a minor uprising had taken place and forcefully quelled. As in beaten out of the boy who was stretched in the middle, slumped over upon his own body. No-one else came near him. Most were staring at various parts of the wall with blank eyes.

He cleaned the boy up and then covered him. It was all he could do; the eyes were not hollow like the rest, but undeniably dead, snuffed out with the force of a hammer…or a shovel coated in dried blood. One girl towards the end trembled, a collar around her neck. A closer inspection told him they all wore collars. Some had been dented with something hard, but they had endured still. Others were melted slightly as if they had been burnt in white fire.

The black-haired girl in the corner looked up at him. The rest ignored him…and Takuya when he came.

'Are you here to take us home?' she asked, surprisingly in Japanese.

'Yeah…we are.' For some reason, her face looked familiar.

He knelt in front of her, gently touching the burnt skin. Pained, she flinched but made no move to comfort herself. Even her eyes did not react. It was almost as if the pain to her body was separate to her soul.

'Can you tell me where your home is?'

She shook her head, eyes starting to brim with tears. 'I don't have one, do I? Slaves have only here, and the land.'

'The land wasn't growing anything.' That was Takuya, who had matured greatly over the years, the hot flame buried deep within his heart. 'I have a very hard time believing these guys are all that much at fault. Except perhaps…' His voice trailed off.

'It is hard to hold on to things when they're not there anymore,' Kouji said slowly, and barely realising the words escaping from his mouth. 'But that doesn't mean they die. It just makes them less concrete. More abstract.'

His eyes lifted, before falling against an old rusted piece of metal the girl clung to.

'What is that?'

Blue eyes peeked at him, before she uncurled her fist. The other drew in a gasp as he noted the symbol carved, as if in everlasting ink, outliving the metal itself.

'Wha…how...where…' His brain scrambled for a foothold, but he couldn't bring himself to hope something had changed over the years. He didn't feel any different. Their connection was still stretched. Far away, the Digital World was still hovering on the brink of war while living out their lives. Much like they were, as emissaries of peace and justice.

Except they weren't really doing it because it was what they wanted to spend the rest of their lives doing. Nay…it was more for a different sort of dream. They were content, or as content as they could bring themselves to be, but the world no longer had anything to offer them, save each other. None of them were married. Their parents had all passed on. Tomoki's brother had married a fine young woman and now had kids of his own. Shinya was travelling around the world becoming the next soccer player who people all over would remember the name of.

'I don't know,' the girl said quietly. 'There was just something about it. Something that said I had to look after it. To give it to someone.'

Then she held out her palms and offered it to him, smiling slightly.

'I think it wants to go with you.'

Kouji took it, the dry crusted metal with the white symbol of darkness, flaked with red and black and brown. Blood, he thought. And dirt.

He wasn't sure he had ever believed that, that even if you killed a body, a spirit could live on. But his brother's spirit wasn't alive in the end at all, was it? His eyes, for the first time in years, gave way to tears, running freely down his cheeks. It was just his memories, and his touch, living behind in an old hunk of metal.

But that depended on how one chose to define the spirit.

Takuya's hand patted his shoulder, somewhat awkwardly, and the girl curled up in fear. _'Did I do something wrong?'_ she asked, talking in the native tongue of the land.

'_No, you didn't._' It was Kouji who replied, slipping into the same, although to him unfamiliar dialect and clutching the metal hard enough to draw blood. He'd finally remembered, after the thought completely slipped his mind, where he'd seen the girl before. On the news, quite recently. Another kidnapping. They were awfully common after all. This one had been in Chiba about six months ago.

Years and years too late. But at least there were some people.

'_We're going to take you home_.'

She looked at him.

_'Do you know where my home is_?'

He nodded.

A little later, he watched the barren landscape pass by. Those children, or teenagers would be going home, but to what? They would be going home too, but again, to what? It felt like all of them were drifting somewhere, trying to cling to something. There were times where he felt far more grounded in his dreams. Where he wished he really was still in the Digital World, with the fresh grass under his feet and the sweet breeze blowing on his face and in his hair…

His cell phone rang and he automatically answered it, not even realising Takuya following his every motion.

'Minamoto,' he said curtly.

'Are you ready to come home?' was the reply.

_Ofanimon…_

Home was where the heart was after all.


End file.
